


A New Beginning

by ThroughtheMirrorDarkly



Series: A New Beginning [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Broken Friendships, Canon-Typical Violence, Corrupt Ministry, Cussing, Depression, Dimension Travel, Drama, F/M, Family, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Master of Death Harry Potter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15639510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly/pseuds/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly
Summary: Life never turns out the way Aster Potter has ever expected it to, and in the aftermath of the Second War, things had been no different. Friendships broken, a dark truth revealed and a corrupt Ministry rising once again, Aster realizes that she has no place left in this world and makes a desperate choice.1st Sequel is Up! "Whatever It Takes".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Discalimer: I do not own Harry Potter, it all belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. This is for me to challenge myself as a writer, and nothing else.
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>  
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> Summary: Life never turns out the way Aster Potter has ever expected it to, and in the aftermath of the Second War, things had been no different. Friendships broken, a dark truth revealed and a corrupt Ministry rising once again, Aster realizes that she has no place left in this world and makes a desperate choice. 
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>  
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> Pairings: Mentions of Neville/Luna and Bill/Fleur
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> Warning: There are elements of this that are very dark and border on straight out horror. Mentions of PTSD, child abuse and more will be found throughout this. Maybe borderline bashing, but I don’t feel it is outright bashing.
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> Inspiration: Honestly, I’ve read stories where MOD! Harry goes through the Veil for one reason another, or stories where he was actually adopted and/or has another parent out there, and while I liked those stories, I never gave any real thought to how I personally would do it until a few weeks ago when I was reading up on magic and things called “ley lines”, and slowly but surely this one shot came together. Enjoy.
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> Aster Potter’s Main Theme Song: “Broken Crown” by Mumford and Sons

A New Beginning 

by ThroughtheMirrorDarkly

* * *

_Touch my mouth,_

_And hold my tongue,_

_I’ll never be your chosen one,_

_I’ll be home, safely tucked away,_

_Well you can’t tempt me if I don’t see the day._

—Mumford and Sons, _Broken Crown_

* * *

_8th November 2002_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

The November air was cool and crisp, with the hint of rain and storms that vibrated in the air. Aster Potter stared up at the thunderheads that churned above, with a mixture of feelings that pulsed through her veins like molasses. A red scarf wrapped around her throat tightly and her leather gloves griped the stroller that she pushed down the street. Teddy Lupin slept soundly curled up in his blanket, with a warming charm to keep the chill away. He was already four years and it was hard to believe that just a little under a year ago that he almost didn’t make it to see fourth birthday. 

Her heels clicked against the concrete sidewalk, and she felt much older than any normal twenty one year old should feel. So much had happened in the aftermath of the war, where peace should have existed all there had been was chaos. It had been a slow simmering chaos, deceptive and quiet in how it built up to a breaking point and it crushed her to see how everything fell apart. And now Aster options were limited, otherwise she would have never stepped willingly into Privet Drive again. It was on these streets that Aster had learned far more cruel lessons than a child should ever have to. She had never been a rambunctious child, but held herself with a forlorn air, as if lost and out of place in the very normal and ordinary streets. If the vicious rumors that her aunt, uncle and cousin spewed had not driven other kids and adults to scorn her, her mannerisms would have labeled her too odd to associate with to the small minded people who lived in the England suburbs. A lot of people didn’t like what they perceived as different, the unknown was too scary for them to contemplate. Still she thrived in the face of the cruel attacks—words whispers by her aunt, her cousin’s “Aster Hunting”, and her uncle’s beating—by withdrawing inside of herself and being quiet as a mouse. 

Her mind had been her refuge, despite the constant darkness—the piece of Voldemort’s soul—that plagued her, trying to destroy the fleeting moments of calm and happiness with nightmares or dark thoughts. She found a place in the local park, hidden behind the holly bushes and hydrangeas, where she would hide away and daydream, as if some magical means would come and make her life all the better. Maybe that’s why she took to the wizarding world so easily because it was her wish come true, right? She had been so neglected, so starving for touch and affection that she accepted the first kind faces as friends without hesitation. 

She had been so exceedingly naive. It wasn’t that she hated the people that she once called friends. It wouldn't hurt so badly to have all those relationships fall apart if she hated them. No, she loved and she loved deeply. It was why she had been willing to put up with so much and excuse so much in order to keep them in her life. Ron’s jealousy that reared its ugly head about her “fame” or if a boy showed interest in her romantically, he would be insolent and resentful. Aster was forced to go throw hoops to get him to calm down, most of the time. There were times that Ron came to his senses on his own and apologized, but it just made her feel exhausted after each fight. Friendship, she had thought to herself quietly, shouldn’t be like that. 

Hermione wasn’t outwardly antagonistic like Ron could be at times, but she had an superiority-inferiority complex, where she needed to be the best or do the best in order to validate herself. While she was exceedingly book smart—arguably the smartest witch of their age—she didn’t always do well when it came to putting her knowledge to practical use, and if Aster did better than her, Hermione would go into inquisition-mode to question Aster on how she did better. This caused Aster to fall into the old pattern of doing her bare minimum on her school work (like Aunt Petunia had forced her to do so she wouldn’t outshine Dudley), using the tests to keep her grades afloat and to keep Hermione off of her back. 

Aster took her time to go the house marked Number Four. She had no reason to hurry with the Notice Me Not spell active and working. She had lost the people that had been following her back in France, thanks to Luna's well aimed subterfuge and this was the last the place in the world that anyone would ever suspect to look for her. Her startling green emerald eyes with flecks of turquoise turned down away from the gloomy overcast that seemed like a fitting metaphor for all that she held bottled up inside. She wasn’t saying she was the perfect friend, or even was a perfect person. She had many faults and she had done of her fair share of wrongs. Her temper ran white hot at times, overriding her common sense. She would rush head first with emotion, instead of thought and she had contributed to the strife in many of her friendships. Still, in her eyes, she thought the good times outweighed the bad times, and she acknowledged that if not for Ron and Hermione, she might not even be here. 

_But nostalgia was a poor reason to cling to toxic relationships, even if it is all that I know,_ Aster thought, swallowing down the knot of emotion lodged in the back of her throat. It hadn't always been toxic or suffocating. It had once been something that made them all better. The Golden Trio had been through so much ups and downs, Aster thought they could get through anything. Bad times and good times and war times, but it was the aftermath that fractured them completely. She couldn’t return to a normal life like Ron and Hermione had been able to because the sad truth was that Aster didn’t _know_ what a normal life was. Voldemort had taken her parents, the Dursleys ensured that she had no good foundation for building relationships, and while Hogwarts had been a sanctuary—an escape—it had been a big source of danger, molding her into a dutiful soldier. 

But Aster played pretend well enough, so why not try to be normal if only to appease her friends. While Hermione started to work in the Legal Department in the Ministry, (some even heralding her as the next "Amelia Bones"), Ron had taken up the position as an Auror with gusto that earned him high praise from superiors for his willingness to get his hands dirty and deal with dark wizards where others would hesitate. Aster attempted to follow the half-hearted dream of being an Auror, as it was expected of her given that she was a hero and her father had been one before her. She had been denied for the fact she had house a horcrux inside her for seventeen years of her life. Her mental state was unfit for that of an Auror, the Ministry had claimed. 

It was both relieving and disheartening to be turned down. On one hand, it left her in a state of limbo of what to do with her life. Life-long decisions never were easy to her, given that she never really thought she would have a future beyond the next crisis, so being left so idle was a bit of a change of pace that she was at a loss what to do with. Thankfully, Andromeda took her underneath her wing, and taught her the ins and outs of Wizard Politics and how an Heir of Ancient Houses were expected to conduct themselves. It seemed all a bit silly to be honest, at first until it became glaringly apparent that it hadn't been because of horcrux that she had been denied the job to be an Auror, but because she was a high profile half-blood _woman._ Jokes in polite conversation about how many kids she would have, questions of her love life popped up in magazines, and it could have been chopped up to paranoia if she literally didn't have an old wizard by the named of Blaggerdash tell her that the only value she had was her uterus and that women didn't belong in politics. 

As if that wasn't outrageous enough, the people in Aster's life couldn't seem to realize why she didn't want that kind of life. It wasn't that she didn't want love or even to have children, but to be reduced down to a baby maker after all she had accomplished was a slap to the face. She bit her tongue though and endured all of it with a smile, even the lists of bachelors that Molly Weasley loved to bring up ever weekly dinner. 

Let it not be said that Aster didn't _try._ She dated around the Wizarding World, but too many people saw her name and fortune as a calling card to try and tie the knot, or get her pregnant like Blaise Zabini and then steal her inheritance. It was a shame he was such a scheming asshole and attempted line theft on her, because he had been intelligent, charming and had been quite talented in bed. She had even gone a couple of dates with a lovely witch, figuring perhaps she would do better with the fairer sex. It had been nice enough, but it just cemented the fact that her tastes swayed more towards a male preference than a female one. She contemplated dating non-magical people, but she dismissed it almost immediately. With the way the statutes were set, Aster wouldn't be able to tell her significant other that she was a witch until the marriage was done and over with. So Aster put herself to work on magical theories and studies, spending time with Andromeda and Teddy. The time she spent with the Weasleys grew scarce, and the friendships with Hermione and Ron grew strained and taut given that their lives all pulled the Golden Trio in different directions. 

But all thoughts of love and life fell to the wayside when the Sickness came. 

The Sickness was a magical disease spread across the whole of Europe in the magical communities with a deadly and life altering consequences. It was a viral infection that started out much like the flu with aches and pains, until it made the victim burn with a fever that raged on for days, if not weeks. No cure or potion could vanquish the viral infection, only improve the odds of a person surviving. Blisters and sores would appear along the skin leaking toxic magic, if the viral gestation had turned lethal and the patient would have to be quarantined or worse. Thirty-five percent of the magical world had been killed thanks to the virus, and those that managed to survive the sickness after being infected had their magical cores weakened to the point they were squibs. The impact was felt with an earth shattering force, especially given that the majority that died had been purebloods. 

Andromeda Tonks had been one of the victims that had perished in the Sickness. It that hadn't already been devastating enough, Teddy fell ill shortly after and the prognosis didn't look good. It had driven Aster to the point of madness with the fear of losing him. He had been her main reason to keep on moving forward, for getting up in the morning and for growing up in order to be the support he would need throughout his life. She had would move heaven and earth to protect him, and would have torn the moon from the sky if it would heal him. In a frenzy, she recalled how she went to every healer thinkable, to every potions master that would hear her out, even going to the deep dredges of Knockturn Alley to find illegal potions and ingredients that seemed promising. After nine days of a steady regiment of potions meant to bolster his immune system and eradicate illness, Aster woke up in the middle of the morning to see his fever had broken and when he opened his eyes for the first time in days, she wept unashamed. It finally felt like the worst was over and they could all start to recover. 

The Ministry, however, saw an opportunity in the wake of tragedy. New laws that required witches of the ages between sixteen and thirty-five to enter into marriage or marriage contracts passed, claiming that it was imperative to repopulate the Wizarding World as quickly as possible. Businesses started barring women from having careers and the media played it up, to normalize the way the Ministry was trying to strip witches’ of their rights. And it wasn’t just mundane born that were in danger, the pureblood witches too, suffered underneath this change that enveloped the British Wizarding World. Any heiress to any noble houses could no longer inherit and had to be married to gain their inheritance or it would be passed to the next person in the line. Luckily Aster had already inherited her title and things, so the laws didn’t directly affect her as of yet. It still didn’t stop from Ron from pressuring her into marriage, and who got exceedingly angry of her refusals. Even Hermione—independent and seemingly feminist Hermione—tried to guilt her into by saying that witches had a duty to not let the magic in their blood to die out. 

Aster realized that they only really cared about her and treated her like family when she fell in line with what they wanted or expected of her, but when she went against their best plans in her interest, she was suddenly treated like a disappointment or an outcast. She knew that they hadn’t been as close as they used to be, but she never expected for things to turn out like this. Aster put up with a lot and swallowed down a lot of veiled insults or attempts to set her up with other wizards, up until at a Yule party when Mrs. Weasley brought up the subject of Teddy. 

_“He is a squib, dear, wouldn’t it be better for him to live elsewhere?—You’re so young. You should be starting your own life and own family—It would be cruel to keep him in a world where he can’t really belong.”_

Aster had gathered up Teddy and left, especially when she found that Mrs. Weasley had saw fit to get paperwork for Aster to put up Teddy for adoption. She had wroth with rage and still any time she thought about the Weasley matriarch, the same dark anger would burn through her from head to toe. That when she went to Gringotts—having made reparations with the goblins after the second war ended, she was able to bank there again—and tried to figure out if there was any way to protect herself and Teddy from the Ministry and the people she once considered family. The Ministry started to print articles implying she was on the path to becoming a Dark Lady, citing the most ridiculous stories and rumors as proof. And the clincher? Was how they felt that she could be saved if only with the right guidance. It didn’t a genius to figure out just what the right guidance they had in mind ways. It was amazing how much and how little things had changed. The thing about war is that when it’s over, people just wanted things to return a status quo and so the Ministry returned to the stagnant status quo that made the fucking war possible in the first place. It kept the pureblood assured in their superiority and put wealthy families’ interests over the common folk and mundane born, and any proposed change was like pulling teeth. The Sickness had just been an excuse people needed to justified their backwards beliefs and imposed them on everyone. 

She was already one foot out the door, and it was the letters she received from Gringotts vault left to her by Dumbledore that caused her to completely shut that door. In a letter, he penned shortly before his death Albus Dumbledore confessed a great sin to her—a sin that he had committed to gain a hero for the Wizarding World. He had enacted a very ancient and dark spell to pull a hero from another realm, a hero he could mold into the Wizarding World’s salvation. He had then offered the baby to the Potters’ who had been having trouble conceiving since they were the only other family that fit the prophecy, besides the Longbottoms, when a prophetess had another vision where Neville would fail to destroy Voldemort and the Wizarding World would be plunged into mayhem. 

It was still a bitter pill to swallow, knowing what Dumbledore did. It made her feel small and insignificant like a pawn on a chessboard. He didn’t even know who her biological parents or what family she left behind. He had never told the Potters of her true origins, never told them about the target he placed on their backs. He hadn't cared to learn the depths of the story of a little girl he plucked from some universe, only that she had been capable of saving the Wizarding World. Aster shuddered, recalling the pensive memory of a conversation between Dumbledore and Snape. Aster would never be a fan of Snape's, there was too much bad blood to be erased or absolved by the reason _why_ behind his actions, but she agreed with him on his assessment of Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore raised her to be a pig for slaughter, weighing the fate of his world above that of one girl. He may have cared for her in his own grandfatherly way, but he never lost sight of the greater good no matter how great his affection for her was. And on some level, Aster understood it. 

The good of the many outweighed the good of the few, but the ends in which Dumbledore justified his actions didn't make them any less cruel or callous. 

Aster wondered who her real parents were or what kind of family was out there that missed her. What were they like? What was the world like? How different would her life have been if she hadn’t been stolen by Dumbledore’s spell? The thoughts buzzed around her mind constantly and there was no escape from them. The thoughts were not very productive, just more regrets that festered inside of her until she received an ominous warning from her dear friend, Luna. Before Neville and Luna departed Britain to take refuge in France, the wide eyed dreamy blond had given her an ominous warning, "Magic does not spring eternal. We cannot exist as we once were, and you cannot remain here unharmed. You cannot save us from this, but you can save yourself." 

Many people thought that Luna Lovegood was nothing more than a crazed witch, sprouting off tall tails about made up creatures or was a bit wrong in the head. All those who would discredit the blond were fools because Aster knew there was a lot more to Luna's madness than met the eye, and the young woman had an uncanny ability to have an insight into things that had yet to pass. So she thanked her friend to the warning and started planning in earnest, splitting her time between her godson and research into alternate dimensions. When Minister Kingsley passed away from a heart attack and was replaced by Ignatius Greengrass, Aster could practically see the wheels that spun towards the end begin to turn. If it had been just herself she had to worry about, maybe Aster would have stayed and fought fate. 

But she had Teddy to consider, and how her choices affected him. She was all he had left in this world and the Weasleys made it apparent where he stood in their eyes, so she could expect no support from them. She would not allow Teddy to grow up surrounded by war and death like she had been. She would not allow him to grow up in a place with an unloving family, always wondering why he had been left alone. She would do for him what Lily and James tried to do her, and give him his best chance in life no matter what the cost. She would not be some martyr to be strung up, or put upon display. She had sacrifice so much for the Wizarding World, she had literally _died_ for it, and if she gave any more of herself away then there would be nothing left. So when she discovered a way to re-engineer the spell Dumbledore used to bring her here, she saw her way out and damnit all, she was _taking_ it. 

And she was running out of time. 

The Ministry had sent a notice that they were sending an Auror team—with Ron Weasley on said team—to investigate suspicions of dark magic activity that she was supposedly involved in, and that she would be required to comply to a search of her properties and effects. Aster knew that she could not stay idle any longer, because she could not risk them discovering her plants and so she let the first domino of the great many that she put into place fall. With runes and blood magic, she had created a golem that looked and acted like her, sending it off as if she were to escape to France to join Nevill and Luna. Meanwhile the house elves that had agreed to accompany on this harrowing journey had packed up the mansion with great haste. All other properties that the Potters had owned had been liquidated a while ago and she had already cleaned out the majority of her vaults, setting a good portion for Luna and Neville so that they could have security in the trying times ahead. 

So what if her actions were cowardly? So what if they were selfish? She had fought for a better world and to stop Voldemort, and the world didn't get better just because one bad man was gone because what good was stopping one monster, when the monster of apathy still lived on in the hearts of the witches and wizards? What good was stopping a monster only to have another one—more insidious and systematic—to rise in its place? She was already so damaged from her childhood, from the years spent fighting Voldemort and now the unexpected betrayal to fill her nightmares for several lifetimes. She was taking her son—he was her son in everything, including blood now—and leaving this world far behind. Far behind from those that would use and abuse her could never reach her ever again. 

Lily and James had loved her like she had been their own child. She had found letters between Lily and Amelia Bones, where Lily joyfully told her friend about how happy she was to adopt a baby. Found pictures of James, holding her as a baby with a proud and beaming smile on his face. Her parents loved her, even if her very existence placed a target on their backs and they sacrificed everything for her. She would be forever grateful for what they had done for her, and she mourned for them greatly, wishing that she had a better chance to know them. They were innocent, caught up in Albus’s greater good as much as she had been. Releasing a shaken breath, Aster pushed the stroller up to the house labeled Number Four. 

Aster reached into black wool jacket, and pulled a small silvery disc that was made from iridium with runes . It was an array capture that she needed to draw in the residual magic of the blood wards. The blood wards no longer existed as functionally wards, but she didn’t need the wards to function. She just needed to capture the trace of magic—of Dumbledore’s magic—to use in the reversal spell to send her and Teddy back to the world where she came from. 

Aster Potter was taken control of her life and her destiny. 

She was no one’s pawn this time around. 

* * *

_17th November 2002_

_El Giza, Egypt_

_The Pyramids of Giza_

There was nothing short of wondrous about the Ancient Egyptians’ accomplishments, magical and non-magical. Aster sat inside of a tent, the fabric of it shuddering and shivering as a sand storm raged outside, but with magic to reinforce the tent and to dull the roar of the storm, the inside of the tent was almost idyllic. Cooling charms prevented overheat and Winky set about making tea. Dobby and Winky—along with a few other house elves had agreed to stay in her service as paid help, willing to jump worlds with the witch which was a very humbling. (Kreacher had stayed on, but passed away of old age several months ago.) Teddy was playing with blocks on the floor with Flutterby, a baby of the house elves Butter Bee and Twinkles, and the two children giggled when Aster made the blocks dance with a flick of her hand. She hated bringing them out here in the wilderness where the desert could go from kind to cruel at the drop of a hat, but the power she needed to open a portal between worlds was no small feat. 

Dumbledore from the journal he had left behind—perhaps he had known Asher would leave after discovering her origins and left the leather bound book to her as some sort of apology—indicated that he had used Stonehenge to amplify the power behind the spell. However, the United Kingdom was not a good place for her anymore. With the allegations that she had gone "dark" splashed on the front cover of the Daily Prophet, Aster could not risk Teddy’s wellbeing by staying there for a moment longer. In her fifth year, the Ministry had done the same thing and put her on trial for misuse of underage magic when she had only been defending herself. She didn’t trust the Ministry underneath Greengrass’ reign to not try and bring up false charges. Even though they had found nothing in her home when the Aurors ransacked it, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try again and this time plant some evidence to implicate her as the new Dark Lord (or Lady if you were picky about your titles.) 

So Egypt had been her third choice. There was untold amount of ancient magic hidden beneath the sands here, waiting for someone to come along and tap into it. Her second choice…well, it had been the Deathly Hallows. With the stone lost and wand broken, Aster assumed that was that, but there were some times that she could feel a chill creep up along her spine. Like the cold hands of death tapping up her back—taunting and teasing—and could feel amusement, and perhaps a reluctant fondness, that was not hers swell up beneath her breast. She could almost feel the wand in the palm of her hand, held there possessively and feel the weight of the stone encased in a ring of silver on right middle finger, hearing the whisper of the dead croon in the depths of her ear. She had thought to try and summon them, but it felt… _wrong._ She never wanted this power, or intentionally gone searching for it. 

Some powers shouldn’t be used. 

So Aster shoved the impulse to the back of her mind—ignoring the huff of laughter that felt like ice on the back of her neck, and didn’t turn around because she was half afraid she would know just what she would find standing there—and searched through old tomes about powerful places in the world. There were magical pathways known as a Ley Lines that connected sites of powerful mystical convergences, like Stonehenge and the Great Pyramids. If her theory was right then she should be able to used runes to open up the Ley Lines like a conductor and pulled the energy from the Stonehenge site to the Pyramids. It would be a lengthy and exhausting process, but hopefully rewarding by the end of it. 

Part of her wished that things had ended differently between her and her friends, that they could have been supportive of her in this, but she knew that they couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, understand what was driving her now. They had their lives, they were content with how the Wizarding World was even in its deteriorating state, but Aster…Aster never felt like she belonged. The wonders and adventures had kept the secret wound from consuming her or she pushed it to the back of her mind, but it always resurfaced with time. Her green eyes glanced over at the letters—the last letters, she had received from Ron and Hermione. Hermione pleaded with Aster to come home and trying to explain how they wanted what was best for her. Ron wrote an apology for rushing her or pressuring her into an arranged marriage, trying to state that he and his family just wanted to protect her from some manipulative pureblood that would trap her. And maybe part of them truly believed that...but it felt like one of those moments that couldn’t be taken back. All three of them at one point had been heading down the same road, but there was turn somewhere, a branch off that Aster had taken. She was so far beyond the point of return that she couldn’t see what path they were on anymore. She wasn’t bitter or angry, mostly just sad and resigned. Some people just grew apart and the Golden Trio had played pretend for as long as they could until outside forces like the Sickness and the Ministry’s oppression completely shattered the foundation of their fractured friendships. 

She had played pretend most of her life for the sake of others, to be what they needed and they took more than she gave them. She didn’t have any more left in her least she sacrifice the last bit of whom and what she was, and she didn’t have that luxury to be self-sacrificing. Her choices affected a child, and with the darkness growing in England—with no one attempting to put an end to it—she knew that leaving was her best choice. She wasn’t about to let Teddy be orphaned twice over like she had been, and Luna’s words rang crystal clear in her head once more. She couldn’t save the Wizarding World. Magic was dying here in this place. She couldn’t save them, and they would vilify her for it. Place the undeserving blame at her feet. Isn’t that what they were already doing in the papers? Because she didn’t settle down as a Lord’s wife or didn’t magically find the cure, she must be a Dark Lady that was the source of all their problems? Running her hands tiredly down her face, Aster sighed, leaving back in the wooden chair. If there was a single regret she had was that she couldn’t convince Luna and Neville to join her. 

Neville wouldn’t leave his ailing grandmother behind in France by herself, and Luna had looked at her sadly saying that Aster was going on to a place that they couldn’t follow. It had broken Aster’s heart, but she had to push onward, no matter who she left behind. Reaching across the desk in front of her, she penned a short letter to the Longbottom family to let her know that they were alright. She sent one to Bill and Fleur who also resided in France, ever since the Ministry declared that their marriage was invalid due to Fleur being half veela. The two had been amongst the handful of people who understood her aversion to how low the Wizarding World in Great Britain was sinking. 

The fountain pen moved fluidly across the paper, the words short and simple. Vague enough that there wasn’t a hint of where in the world they were, but letting everyone know enough to put their minds at ease. She had a subtler side that not a lot of people saw; she had to be ambitious and clever to warrant the hat to want to put her in Slytherin, after all. She also was a hidden bookworm, enough to have the hat mutter briefly about Ravenclaw before dismissing it because her hotheadedness would not do well in that environment. It was because of these two things that she got high enough scores on her tests to make up for the mediocre homework and class assignments where she was careful to not show her full skill. 

Finishing the letters, she sat back to let the parchment dry when Teddy decided to crawl into her lap, looking very tired and exhausted. He got so tired and weak at times, a side effect from the Sickness that had nearly claimed him. It was one of the reason she modified a stroller for him so he could still enjoy things like the zoo or parks without getting so physically tired. Not a lot of children his age still used strollers, after all in a few months he would be five years old. She smiled when she saw Twinkle pick up Flutterby—who was half the size of the other elves, and had big eyes—and the toddler elf waved over her mother’s shoulder. “Night, night,” the little elf yawned, her voice like that of a chipmunk which made her even more adorable. 

Cradling Teddy in her arms, she looked down at her son with bright eyes. “What are you two up to?” She asked, a tone of humor in her voice. 

“Mommy,”—yeah, it had taken Aster by surprise when Teddy started calling her that, but in a good way—“why did we have to leave home?” Teddy asked her, his big baby blue looking up at her in confusion. 

Aster hadn’t lied and said they were on vacation. She knew the decision to leave England would be a big upheaval for everyone, especially Teddy given that was the only home he had ever known. She told him the truth, but not heavily on the details. He was only four after all, and shouldn’t have to bear the burden of that knowledge. “The bad people, remember sweetie?” She said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. 

“But…” the boy pouted, struggling for words to express his thoughts. “But what if things get better? Do we go back?” 

“Not everyone has the same idea on what better means, Teddy,” Aster spoke, after a long moment. She ran her fingers through his hair as he snuggled into her lap like a cat was ready for a long lazy nap. “Better for someone else doesn’t always mean better for us. I know it’s hard to understand what’s going on, and I’m really sorry for that, buddy. I promise when you are old, I will sit down and explain everything better.” 

“Maybe the p—” his words were cut off with a loud yawn. “Maybe the people need a hero to save them.” 

“Sometimes, people have to be their own heroes,” she told him, with a sad sort of smile. She lifted him into her arms, and rose out of the seat. She walked down the hallway—the tent was enlarged by magic to the size of a small home—and took him to his bedroom. He clambered out of her arms and into his bed, and Aster pulled up the blankets to tuck him. “Sometimes, people have to stop looking for some idol or magical solution to come save them, and pick themselves up of the ground and learn to fight to make things better. No one else can do it for them.” 

But Teddy was already asleep. 

_My poor baby,_ she thought, feeling choked up. He looked so happy and carefree when asleep, like nothing bad in the world could touch him. She felt her heart clench tight inside of her, and she swore to herself that she would endeavor to keep as carefree as she could for as long as she could. 

* * *

The winds calmed and the sands fell away, the sun dipped down from the sky and sat upon the edge of the horizon. Aster exited the tent leaving Dobby with the instructions not to allow Teddy or anyone else outside. There was a knot that twisted in her gut, a feeling that strange things would soon be happening. The guards that patrolled the area had been convinced she was an archaeologist due to forged papers. Bill had went through some of his contacts to get her a false identity set up as a curse breaker, and so she was allowed to roam the pyramid site without trouble for the most part. She slipped her red rounded sunglass over her eyes, and adjusted the hood of her sleeveless jacket that had a white tank top underneath. She had on light grey kakis that went down to below her knees and tan steeled toe combat boots, that had a hidden pocket along the side of it to store small items. She had adopted mundane clothing for this venture (she had always mixed up her wardrobe with mundane and wizarding apparel much to the Wizarding World’s consternation), because sometimes robes were entirely impractical. 

Especially when someone was going to go tomb diving. 

She had already ventured into the smaller two pyramids two days prior, so now she had only the pyramid built for the Pharaoh Khufu (or Cheops, as he was also known by), and made her way past the Sphinx, that thankfully did not ask her a riddle. It once had been like the Sphinx in the maze during the Tri-wizard tournament, but the magics that brought it to life were no longer there. It was merely a statue now. She made her way to the south side of the largest pyramid—a seventh wonder of the world from what she had read—to the opening that led deeper into the resting place of one of Egypt’s most notable pharaohs. She walked up the path built by the locals, and archaeologists from a previous dig, and made her way to the opening. It was a tunnel, dark and filled with shadows, and Aster cast a glance over her shoulder to make sure no guard got curious enough to follow her before she held out her hand. 

“Lumos.” 

A ball of light appear hovering her palm, and it flickered for a moment while Aster struggled with the wandless casting before finally it settled. She released out a small breath, happy that her wandless casting was progressing nicely. She had dedicated herself to studying magic and theories after the war, the weight of how many they had lost rested on her shoulder. If she had learned more, done better, perhaps so much could—Aster shook her head, dismissing the thought before it could lead her down a dark path. The moments of helplessness that had been saved by sheer dumb luck echoed in her memories, constantly and she had to get better. She had to be able to protect the people most precious to her now, she had lost too many to Death and lost to many to apathy already. She wasn’t willing to lose anymore. 

The temperature lowered the further and further she followed the path down into the depths of the tomb, but there was something else. There was a chill that wasn’t quite natural that vibrated through the walls, though Aster couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. She bypassed the ascending passage way, knowing what she sought laid down the descending path towards the subterranean chamber. That’s when a sudden wind burst up from the depths where _no wind should be coming from_ , and Aster for a split second saw what appeared to be a humanoid shape shambling towards her from the darkness. There was an unnatural crack of power—of magic and her light was extinguished. 

Panic prickled at her scalp, and she lowered herself to the ground, bending her knees prepared to fight or flee. She held her breath tight in her lungs, and strained to listen to the scrap of footsteps making their way up the tunnel towards her. A smell of death—just a trace nitre—wafted up towards her, and as her eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden darkness, making her wish that she hadn’t just had the runes expert correct her eyesight. She wanted to add runes that could help her see in the dark and give her an enhanced sight, but to apply so many runes—especially given how fragile eyes were—could be dangerous. By the time, her eyes were healed enough to undergo more runes, they had to flee from London. After several heartbeats, she saw the slight outline of the thing stumbling towards her. 

Taller than her by a few feet, but thin and emaciated, and wrapped in _bandages._ A hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat and she bit her tongue so hard it drew blood in effort to choke it down. 

A mummy. There was a fucking mummy of all things! 

It was so cliché, and yet she hadn’t expected it. There had not been any signs of an active curse that she had seen anywhere in the pyramids. Curse breakers had been employed decades ago to make old tombs like these accessible for the mundane, after the whole trouble with King Tut’s tomb had almost exposed the magical world. _So what…or who woke the mummy up? Who could animate it in such a manner?_ Aster thought, with rounded eyes. 

Necromancy was not possible, for all the feats magic could create. So that left one possibility that made her tremble from head to toe, and she swallowed the knot wedged painfully in her throat. She slipped her wand out of its holster when a ball of blue fire came flying at her. Aster let out a startled squeak and darted out of the way, and was thankful she did not wear robes! If she had then she would be on fire right! 

Her palm scraped against the rock in an effort to steady herself and kept from tumbling down into the darkness, and she rolled to her feet after a moment, hearing the undead creature sped up towards her. She pointed her wand when a hardened and mummified hand wrapped around her throat, the joints cracking with sickening pops. It was surprising how much force the mummy had, an inhuman strength that choked her and kept her from being able to drag in another gulp of air. She could see the face swirling above her, desiccated and a horrible parody of a human face. She pointed her wand and thought of fire, the burning inferno and the color of the flames. A shower of embers erupted from her wand shortly followed the _woosh_ of flames, and the mummy let out an inhuman shriek that made her cringe backwards. 

It caught aflame like wood, the bones creaked and dried flesh snapping. Aster felt bile rush up the back of her throat, and she planted her foot against the mummy’s chest and kicked out with all of her strength. It tumbled backwards, the thuds and smacks of its body against the stone echoed up the passageway. It landed just at the end of the tunnel, just barely in her site and she stayed completely still until finally it stopped moving. “What the fuck?” She cursed, narrowing her eyes in anger. “Who the hell—” 

Coldness swept across her skin, possessively and tauntingly, and Aster turned her head to meet the eyes of Death who passed by. She had only glimpse him once—one time before she had been swept away to the mystical white train station after Voldemort had killed her with the killing curse—and the second time was nearly as jarring as the first. He was cloaked in moving shadows and tattered old fabric, with a face rotted away so much that it held no features. Only a skull with strips of putrid fleshing spattered across it every so often, and towered over impossibly tall. The bottom of his scythe scraped against the of bottom of the passageway like nails on the chalk board, and then next moment, she blinked. 

Death was gone. 

Every cell in her body urged her to rush back up the path and get the hell out of that pyramid, Aster had not been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing and she had faced death before, greeting him without fear. It was obvious that there was some sort of power play going on here and she knew in her soul what it meant—knew that as she stepped down into the lower chamber with the string of rope to guide her and not a spec of light that things were about to irrevocably change. The temperature dropped, cold and frigid as if she was cradled in the heart of winter instead of a desert tomb. 

The chamber was a decent size, she could tell from the echo her feet hit the bottom. Flames burst to life on torches mounted to the walls and three more mummies burst out from the walls and came charging at her. One swung a wickedly curved blade and Aster ducked to the side, just in time to avoid the sharp edge from slicing her head off of her shoulder. The blade clanged at the wall loudly, and the mummy howled like an enraged dog before lunging at her again. These mummies were pretty spry for being corpses. 

“Protego!” She shouted out, erecting a shield to block an arrow launched at her by a mummy across the room. Releasing the shield, the arrow clattered to the floor and with a lightning fast swiftness, Aster swirled her wand around and jabbed it at the mummy. “Relashio!” 

The mummy with the bow went flying to one side of the room, and the bow went flying in the opposite direction. A movement out of the corner of her eyes was the only split second warning, Aster moved out of the way but not enough to fully escape the sharp blade slicing up the length of her back. It was only a flesh wound, not deep enough to do permanent or life threatening damage, but the burning pain rattled her. She stumbled backwards, feeling blood soak into her cloak. The warm wet sensation was uncomfortable and lulled memories of the war back to the forefront of her mind— _how she was rushing through Hogwards, the smell of death and ash hanging all around, body littering the ground_ — 

She threw herself out of the way of the mummy’s oncoming blade only to have to scramble backwards on all fours when the second mummy slammed down a war hammer, cracking the floor where she had only been moments ago. Blood roared in her ears and her heart slammed around her ribcage painfully, her breaths were coming in too short of gasps and the palm that held her wand tightly was slick with sweat. Her mind raced with thoughts, trying to untangle the past from the present and a vision of Teddy filled her mind, the first time she held her godson and she lifted her wand, “Expecto Patronum!” 

A stag made up blinding pure light burst forth from the tip of her wand, stomping forward using its antler to knock away and tear through the mummies. The mummies screamed and burnt upon impact with the light—meaning that Hermione’s old theory that the spell would work against undead creatures was true, thankfully—and soon the chamber went silent when the patronus brought its hoof down, crunching the last mummy’s skull. Aster sank back against the wall, and let out a tired and exhausted sight. 

Her patronus walked over to her, and carefully leaned its head down to knock forehead with her. She reached up with trembling hands, petting the sides of the deer’s face and whispered out, “Thanks, Prong.” 

The stag neighed, softly. 

Now that her patronus was up close, Aster could see that his shape was not fully formed. It was not that she casted a weak patronus, by any means, but it looked like the stag’s shape was…mushy. All wobbly and wibbly like it was trying to take a different form, but Aster couldn’t understand why. She had heard that patronuses can change if the caster has changed in a fundamental way. Had she changed so much that Prongs was no longer quite what her patronus should be? She wasn’t sure she liked the implications of that, but her life had taken a big turn from what it once was or what she thought it ever would be. The patronus faded, retreating back into her form and that’s when she noticed it. 

All sound ceased save for the thundering of her heart, and it was as if time itself had stuttered to a halt with beads of dust going still in the air and the flames on the torches went motionless, but still bright. In the center of the room, a shadow began to grow until it formed the figure that she knew as Death. A deep rattling chuckle that seemed to house a million screams reverberated through the room, and Aster felt her mouth go dry with panic. 

Jewels clanked together, held on his ratty robes by invisible strings for none was as wealthy as the one called Death, who plane grew more ripe and populated with each passing minute. Dark muted colored jewels like sapphires and diamonds, nothing so bright like rubies or emeralds lest it ruining the dark intimidating presence he had. His face was more now, more flesh than bone and misty colored eyes peered out from the cowl of his hood. She didn’t understand why his appearance had changed, but for some reason it set her teeth on edge. Her fingers curled around her wand, picking it up off the ground. Still no spell or defense fell from her lips because what spell could be powerful to outwit death? 

“What do you want?” Aster asked, after finally finding her voice. 

“Death does not want nor desire anything,” Death replied, in a raspy voice that grated along her skin like nails on a chalk board. “It merely is.” 

Aster narrowed her eyes. “If that were so then we wouldn’t be here, at all, now would we? If Death merely is then why do you interfere? With the Pervell brothers, with me after Voldemort killed me, and here now?” She demanded, hotly. 

Death hummed, the sound like cracking bones and ripping skin. “A leash has two ends, My Master,” he commented, his bony hand twisted his scythe ever so slightly that the blade caught the light of the torches and gleamed dangerously. “The holder and the chained, they both push and pull, always testing boundaries.” 

Aster felt her soul jarred brutally inside of her. She flinched back, as if physically struck by his words and clamored to her feet unsteadily when Death took two steps towards her. “I am not—” She choked on the words in fright, in panic. The gravity of what he implied hit her like a ton of bricks and she felt her skin go clammy with sweat. “I am not your master! I lost the stone and I destroyed the wand!” 

“Oh?” Death seemed amused, his eyes glanced to the wand she held so tightly. “Then what is that in your hand?” 

Aster felt her brows furrow into a knot, before she too glanced down. A sound of shock tore out of her mouth, and she dropped the Elder wand like it had burnt her. She didn’t understand! What happened to her regular wand? How had she gotten the Elder wand, whole and intact? Her pulse hammered in the base of her throat and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her head felt woozy from blood loss, and her back screamed in agony from where the mummy had gotten her. Still she refused to cave to the darkness fluttering around her vision, and gritted her teeth together tightly. “What do you want?” 

“A better questions is…what do _you_ want, Miss Potter?” Death questioned, his head cocking to the side after his neck gave a nauseating loud pop. “What do you get out of preforming a ritual so old that it is better lost to time? To align the ancient magics of the ley lines for your personal use as if you have the right to change your fate?” 

“My fate is mine to change however I see fit,” Aster shot back. 

“That’s a naïve notion and you are well aware of it. If that were true then you would have never been taking from your home, your world and then placed in a position to be branded with the weight of a prophecy now would you? Your fate has never been in your control, Aster Potter,” Death laughed, shrilly that made her blood congeal like ice in her veins. 

“It is now,” Aster hissed, defensively. Oh, how his words hit her where she was vulnerable. Dumbledore had set up events, and she had followed the yellow brick road so blindly. She had been so blinded by the thought of magic, of belonging that she never stopped long enough to question things around her. She had been so desperate for friends and family, she never stopped to consider that maybe some of the friendships and relationships she had were unhealthy. Even in her fifth year after Sirius’s death, how long did she stay angry with Dumbledore? How long did she question his motivations? Instead, that had all been shoved down into a tiny box and locked away in favor of her trying to find a way to kill Voldemort and his hocruxes. “I am making my own path, and no one will get my way. Not even you, Death.” 

“Is that an order, or a request?” Death asked, lightly. 

Aster hesitated. Could she order him to leave her be? Could she order him out of the way? It all left a sour taste in her tongue, the thought of being someone’s master. She recalled how the Dursleys treated her; like a servant on the best days, and a slave on the worst. She never wanted to be anyone’s master, never wanted to treat another person in that fashion. “I am not your master. I will not order you about,” she decided, with a shake of her head. 

“So a request…how novel,” Death commented, once again seeming entirely too amused by the situation. “Most people make demanded, you know. For more time, to be spared, but none have the power to sway me except you and you don’t even intend on using that power.” 

“Some power is too great, too awful to use,” Aster replied, after a moment. Gathering up her courage, she stalked past him and towards the center of the room. The runes to align the last pyramid with the ley line and allow the power to flow were hidden from the naked eye. Only someone who had studied runes would know where the secret was hidden, but before she could past Death, his free hand wrapped around her upper arm. It was like being touched by a blizzard, impossibly cold and biting, and she jolted. Her head snapped towards Death and looked at him, fear bright in her green eyes. 

“But you intend to use this power, the power of ancients to unravel fate? How is that any different?” Death demanded, maggots falling out of his jaw as the rotten flesh flapped about around his jaw. He got right up in Aster’s face, and it took all the willpower in her to not cringe back from the killing intent that leaked off of him. Fear sliced her down to the marrow of her bones, but she tilted her up her chin defiantly nonetheless. 

“Dumbledore used it to steal my life—the life I would have had with my birth parents, so me using it now to get back would be setting fate right,” Aster stated, her voice sharp like the crack of a whip. 

“Perhaps that would ring true if you were not playing with more fates than your own, or do you forget your godson whom you intend to take with you, as well as you faithful little group of house elves?” Death grinned, viciously. She didn’t know how she knew he was grinning, he had no lips to imply that he was grinning, but she could feel it in the magic pouring off of him. “Life is a balancing act, Miss Potter. How do you intend to tip the scales to keep them safe through the passage back to your home world?” 

Aster faltered, at a loss. She had no quick reply, or answer to give the smug Death. Instead, she felt horror growing in a cold knot in the pit of her stomach and she drew in a shuddering breath. Her eyes turned away from his, unable to bear the stare that bore into her soul and her eyes fell upon the Elder wand that rested quietly on the stone floor where she had dropped it. It was like a light bulb went off in her mind, and she looked back at Death. “The Hallows,” she whispered out. “I will give you back the Hallows. Whatever makes me the Master of Death, you can have it back. You can be free of me, if you can help me balance the scales to help them get through.” 

If Death was surprised, he did not show it. “So you would choose to live everything you’ve known behind, all your friends and loves ones without a second thought?” 

“I’ve had second thoughts. I’ve had third ones, and fifth ones, but the circular argument always comes back to this choice,” Aster said, feeling heat rising to her cheeks. She felt angry and defensive that Death was judging her like she was a cold-hearted bitch that had little to no regard to the people she would be living behind when it couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“And still you toss away their loyalty and friendship.” 

“They are the ones who tossed it away first!” Her shout echoed loudly off the walls, and her green eyes started to glow with the rage building inside of her. “I shouldn’t have to fight or beg to be loved or accepted by people who are supposed to have my back! I shouldn’t have to prove myself over and over again to the people who claim to know me the best! Why I do have to constantly prove myself? Why am I never enough for them? Why can’t I _just_ be Aster?” It was like a dam had been broken and all these words came tumbling out of her mouth, and she had no way to stop them now. She stared at Death through the tears in her eyes, with months upon months of emotions that she held back unleashed like a maelstrom through the room. Ancient vases were cracked and shattered while a vicious wind threaten to blow the torches out, and the ground beneath her feet trembled. “Family is supposed to lift you up, not bring you down. Love is not supposed to be conditional or detrimental, it’s supposed to acceptance and warmth and kindness. Do you when the last time I felt such kindness from the people who supposedly had my best interests at heart?” 

Death stayed still and silent. 

“And do you know what’s worse? It that I want to hate them, but I can’t,” Asher shook her head, scalding tears pouring down her cheeks. Her hands clenched into tight fists at her side, and her chest heaved fiercely with each gulp of air she drew inward. “They were my family. The people that I fought so hard to protect and I still love them, even though they couldn’t accept me in the end. I can’t just shut those feelings off. It wasn’t easy to come to the realization that it was better to be loathed for who I am, then to be loved for who I am not, and I burned my bridges—so many of them, and it hurts. But staying would hurt more in the long run. And I—” She cut herself off, realizing that her entire body was shaky from head to toe with her sobbing. She felt that she had been brought low by her emotions, and scraped raw from the inside out. She took a few second to steady her breathing, and her nails bit into the palms of her hands. “And I want to… _live,_ not just survive. I don’t want to just be living, to go through the motions like walking through a daydream, either,” Aster told Death, with a watery and sad laugh. “I want to live, love, know happiness, and know that I have a place to belong.” 

“Fate will never give you a normal life, Aster Potter,” Death warned her, his tone sharp and callous. “You were never mention to fade into obscurity, not even in your birth.” 

“I don’t need normal,” Aster countered, wiping away her tears. “I just don’t want to feel like I am spending the rest of my life screaming on the inside. I want a place where I thrive, where my son can live and be happy. And I will go to whatever lengths I have to ensure that, even going to another world to do so.” 

“Why are you so eager to go back to a world you do not remember? Are you so certain that you will belong there? Find that missing piece?” Death questioned, with a p>tilt of his head. The meat of his cheek flapped to the side, hanging on by a tiny piece of sinew. “What makes you so sure that you cannot find that missing piece here?” 

Seconds ticked by like eternity, Aster’s brows furrowed into a deep knot. 

“Maybe I could,” Aster whispered out. “But as the way things are now, with the Ministry trying to brand me a villain and what will surely follow, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life running. I don’t want Teddy to have to grow up always looking over his shoulder waiting for the next attack. So yeah, maybe I could try to find a place to belong, maybe I could try to let bygones be bygones will my old friends, but it comes at too high of a cost. I’m not willing to sacrifice all that I am just for someone’s conditional love. After everything I have been through,” she stated, with a fierce expression and looked Death straight in the eye, “I deserve better than that. So does my son. So are you willing to take the Hallows and help me or not?” 

Death stared at her with his beady eyes. “How far are you willing to take this mad quest of yours?” 

“However far it takes.” 

Death released her arm, and slowly the ghastly visage of his faded away into that of a man in his forties with hawk like eyes that were the color of obsidian and pale skin as white as snow. His brow was prominent and strong, with an aquiline nose and high cheek bones. His lips were thin and straight line, as if he did not smile often. His tattered robes became like midnight blue silk, and the gemstones glittered, polished and uncracked. His simple scythe became more innate, with silver runes carved into the wood that glistened like black glass. “You passed,” Death told her, his voice soothing like the sound of rainstorms and gentle thunder. It held no screams or agony in it any longer. 

Aster reeled back, shocked by his words and transformation. “W-what?” 

“I had to be sure that you would not use or abuse the Hallows, give into the temptation that has been plaguing you. That you truly would give up such power rather than use it,” Death commented, a flicker of a smile on his face before his expression grew somber. “I do not need the Hallows as payment to see you and yours across safely to the other side. A single memory from each of you shall be payment enough, but I get to choose what memories I take from you and yours.” 

Aster was flummoxed, her mind racing a mile a minute. “So the spell will succeed?” 

“Of course, it will. Fate has always favored you, Miss Potter, like a mother does a child.” 

“Forgive me,” Aster smiled was strained, “but is Fate has favored me like a mother all these years, then I have to say she needs lessons in parenting.” 

Death snorted, lightly. “When the eclipse occurs in two nights, return here with all your possession and your brood,” the ancient being stated, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “That is when the ley lines power will be at its height.” 

And Death was gone, and time spun forward once more. 

Aster stayed rooted to the spot for nearly five minutes before she weakly went about finding the runes to tune the pyramid into the ley lines, and after thirty minutes, she returned to her tent. Dobby nearly had an aneurysm when he saw she was wounded and he rallied all the house elves, who immediately all went into mother hen mode. They weren’t going to let her get away with doing anything on her own for the foreseeable future, she just knew it. 

* * *

Two days later, Aster was making breakfast—or attempting to, while Winky kept taking things from her and saying, “No, Mistress. Winky can do this, Mistress should rest.” Aster fought down the irritation that bubbled up because she knew the house elf’s heart was in the right place. Aster never imagined having house elves at all, until Dobby (along with a very depressed Winky) came to her asking to be in her employment. She agreed, after writing up a contract for fair wages and vacation and that they were to have clothes of their own, nice clothes, too. She would not allow anyone to be forced to wear rags like she had been with Dudley’s hand-me-downs. She offered the contract to the Potter house elves, whom initially put up a fuss. It took effort to wear them down, but Aster stayed stalwart in her position that she would not have anyone working for her or in her household that wasn’t getting paid or treated fairly. 

Relinquishing the bowl of pancake batter to the stern-faced Winky, Aster sat down in her chair when the mailbox on her desk shuddered. Sitting up straighter, Aster pulled it open to find new letters inside. It was a transportation box that Luna had developed. It was safer than sending an owl that could intercepted along transit. She pulled the letters out, and quickly checked them for spells—thankful that her regular wand had somehow ended back in the tent—and when no red flags were raised, she used the letter opener to rip open the first one. She slid out the parchment and unfolded it. 

_Lady Aster Potter-Black,_

_I know, I know, you hardly like standing on ceremony and hate the titles you have, but I suppose pureblood manners are too ingrained into me to not start off a letter in such a way. I am glad that you finally sent word that you are doing well. Things have gotten worse in England from the letters that George has sent Bill. Susan Bones had a man twice her age cast an imperio on her during a charity ball being held at the Ministry, but he was apprehended by Draco Malfoy and his fiancé Daphne Greengrass. The man had a fertility potion on his person, so it took no genius to put together just want he was going to do. Unfortunately, this is more common occurrence than anyone wants to admit._

_But I didn’t write to you to make your worry or strong arm you into coming back. As terrible and bleak things in England appear to be, you shouldn’t have to play savior to people who couldn’t appreciate what you did for them in the first place. None of us who understand why you chose the path you’ve set for yourself would see you change it now, no matter how much we are going to miss you. We all lost a lot in the war, and we can’t pretend that it didn’t change things. Some people can easily slip back into their old lives, some can find peace with normal things, but for others like us there is just too many memories making it impossible to stay._

_My grandmother is doing better. I was worried with her getting the sickness, and being so weak afterward that she would pass away. She is bound to a wheelchair much to her consternation, but is able to sit with Luna in the gardens and take her tea. I hope that Teddy is recovering his strength steadily, and doing better. Luna has said…that you will be “on your way” soon, and I can only think that means that your plan will succeed. I want you to know that whatever happens that we hope that wherever you go, we hope for the best for you and Teddy._

_May Magic Guide You,_

_Lord Neville Jonathan Longbottom_

Aster felt teary eyed over the letter, and rubbed the spot over her chest where her heart was. It ached with an untold number of emotions, and she could appreciate Neville trying to give her a bit of peace of mind over her decision. He, too, had a hard time adjusting after the war enduring torture within the walls of Hogwarts and having to learn from the Carrows that Bellatrix Lestrange had gone to St. Mungo’s to finish the job she started on his parents. Neville had been shattered by it all, but Luna had been compassionate and had the patience of a saint. She stayed by him through the nightmare filled nights, the burst of anger and more. If anyone understood how hard it was to just go back and be normal, it was Neville. 

He had been one of the few that she had let see the letter that Dumbledore had left, and he told her that if he had one chance to see his family again, he would take it in a heartbeat. Neville and Luna had both known that she had felt like she belonged in the Wizarding World—or any part of this world for that matter—for a long time, and they encouraged her to do what was best for herself, instead of sacrificing her wellbeing for others who would never see how much she gave. People expected her to save them so anytime she put forth the effort to do good, it hardly matter in their eyes because it was her duty to do that. When she started isolating herself, people had been outraged and Rita Skeeter did a piece every time a crisis happened how the Girl-Who-Lived wasn’t there to save the day. It was a prelude to the Ministry’s bullshit. 

Setting the letter down with a hefty sigh, Aster opened the second letter to find the beautiful and artistic calligraphy that could only belong to Fleur Weasley nee Delacour. Her eyes scanned over the letter about how Fleur was so happy that they were safe, and then gushed about her and Bill’s newborn baby, Jillian. She had inherited the Weasley red hair and Fleur’s blue eyes. The joyful tone of the letter turned sad where Fleur acknowledged that she knew that this was likely their last correspondence, and how that she was sad that they wouldn’t see each other again, but that she knew that Aster had to do what was right for her. She said Bill sent his well wishes, and warned her that the Ministry had started to vehemently search for her. Apparently, Minister Greengrass felt that if he could bring the Girl-Who-Lived to heel it would suppress the flames of rebellion that had started in the hearts of the oppressed. 

Aster slid the letters into her desk drawer, and then rose up out of the chair with a pensive look on her face. She felt nerves—both good and bad—moved through her blood like a quickening, and she rubbed the back of her neck, her green eyes surveying how the house elves packed up the last bit of the furniture, shrinking it down to fit in a trunk. Unable to sleep last night, she had packed away much of the belongings and so now they only had last minute stuff to pack up now. She had already warned them about Death taking a memory from them, and they were a little bit afraid, but trusted her to let no harm come to them. 

It was a bit daunting. Packing up her belongings made it all real, Aster rubbed her arms as if to stave off a nonexistent chill and she smiled when she heard excited footstep rumbled down the hallway. She had only a split second warning before two tiny bodies leapt and latched onto her back, weighing her down and she stumbled dramatically to her knees. “Oh, no! I’ve been taken down by some ruffians!” She cried out, her voice stuttering with laughter. 

“Did we get you?” Teddy asked, with his chin resting on her shoulder. 

“Did we get you?” Flutterby parroted, her head popping out from underneath her arm. 

Aster chuckled, then smirked broadly. “And now I’m going to get you,” she growled, fighting down her laughter when the two children let out squeak and then took off as fast as their legs would take them. She gave them time to find a hiding spot before she rose to her feet, and chased after them. They loved playing hide and seek, but there was a limited amount of spots for them to hide now given that almost everything had been packed away. She checked the bedrooms first, peeking into the closet and then the bathroom. Walking on the balls of her feet, she walked soundlessly across the vinyl flooring and reached out to grab the shower curtain. She pulled it back with a woosh and Teddy lunged forward to tackle her backwards to the ground, not able to accept defeat so easily. 

Aster grabbed him before he could squirm away, and started to tickle him without mercy. 

“M-mama!” Teddy laughed, uncontrollably. He squirmed, violently underneath her fingers tickling his sides. She only relented when he started to say he was about to pee his pants, and Aster ruffled his hair playfully, hugging him tightly. She gnawed on her lower lip, and prayed silently that she was doing the right thing—not only for herself, but for Teddy, hoping that she wasn’t making a big mistake by taking this leap. 

“Hey, mama,” Teddy said, looking up at her with small and confused smile, as if he was thinking about something. “What was it like on your last day as a child?” 

Laughter bubbled her throat, Aster ruffled his hair about. “Where did that question come from?” She asked, genuinely amused. 

“I don’t know,” Teddy said, with a shrug. 

Aster chuckled, but she really didn’t know how to answer his question. She wasn’t ever sure she had got to be a child, not really. “I don’t know, buddy,” she told him, softly. “I don’t think I really was paying attention to that while I was growing up.” 

Teddy accepted her answer, like all children with faith that an adult knew and understood best. “I’m never going to grow up. I want to be a kid and play forever,” the boy stated, with conviction. 

“That sounds like a wonderful way to live,” Aster smiled, brightly. “Now get up and go get breakfast. I still have a little Flutterby to find.” 

“But can’t I help?” Teddy pouted. 

“Breakfast,” Aster told him, pointedly. “You can play more hide and seek later.” 

Teddy sighed, with a mulish expression. “Fine.” 

She watched her son run out of the room, and went on the hunt for Flutterby’s hiding spot now. She was smaller and able to hide in places that Teddy could not, but the little house elf couldn’t help to giggle when she saw Aster nearby so she was easily found. Or so Aster had assumed, but no matter which room that she entered there was no trace of a giggle. She was impressed in the beginning, but as time went on, a worry started to grow in the pit of her stomach. 

Sometimes, she knew her cautiousness bordering on paranoia. It was a habit ingrained on her by the hardships she had endured. Anything that had could have gone wrong often went wrong in her experience and so Aster cheated, casting a “point me” spell. She watched the blue shimmering light appeared, hovering in front of her for a couple of seconds and then rushed forward, creating a trail for her to follow. Her heart stopped, when she watched the ball of light shoot out beyond the tent walls. 

_Oh, God, she’s outside._

A million different fears and thoughts raced through her mind, and she rushed out of the tent without another thought. The desert sun was blinding and hurt her eyes, but she blinked rapidly to spot where the trail of magic led. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach when she saw the little house elf, sitting about ten feet up on the nearest pyramid with a fascinated look on her face. She stumbled across the sands on bare feet, feeling like her skin was boiling about to peel right off and rushed over as fast as her legs would carry her. She crawled up the large stones, and was halfway to the little house elf when something flew by overhead. Her head snapped up, thinking for a brief moment it might have been a plane, but it was too small and flying too low to be a plane. 

_A scout,_ Aster realized, her blood turning to ice in her veins. It was Ministry scout flying on a broom, and while they couldn’t see the tent or its inhabitants, Flutterby and her were out in the open. When the scout came circling back around after shooting up a spell that cast a plume of smoke into the air, she knew that they had been seen. Aster cried out, “Dobby!” 

Dobby appeared with a crack. 

“Get Flutterby in the tent!” Aster ordered, her tone brisk with an edge of panic. “Tell the house elves to pack everything essential, leave what isn’t! Get inside of the tomb, and put up the strongest barrier you can muster until I arrive, alright?” 

“But what about yo—” 

“I’ll be fine,” Aster shook her head. “Just go.” 

Dobby didn’t hesitate, with a crack he appeared beside the baby elf and then disappeared. Aster summoned the Elder wand to her, having left her regular wand in the tent, and felt a trigger of alarm at how perfect it seemed to fit in the palm of her hand. She gnawed on her lower lip, wondering if Death would hold it against her now if she used the wand, but when she saw three more dots in the sky, she knew she wasn’t going to have a choice. 

_I just need to stall them until everyone is safe inside of the tomb, then I’ll get over and place so many barriers on the place that it’ll take them a thousand years to break in,_ Aster thought, mentally planning. She jumped down off the last block of the pyramid when the four wizards reached her (no witches, _shocking_ ) and her green eyes narrowed into slits, glowing like acid when she recognized the one at the forefront. 

“Aster Potter, drop your wand and surrender yourself immediately,” Ron Weasley ordered, from astride his broom about fifteen feet above her in the air. 

Anger and disappointment boiled up in her soul, Aster glowered up at him. “How do you sleep at night? You may pretend that you have noble intentions, but you are no better than the Death Eaters who were hunting and locking away mundane borns during the war. How can you not see that?” She demanded, her lips twisted downward into a deep frown. Even now knowing that he had been a part of those that hunted her, Aster still hesitated throwing the worst spells she knew at him. She hesitated to give him the benefit of the doubt that they no longer reserved for her if they ever truly had. 

Ron’s face twisted in a spasm, before his features hardened. “Look, I didn’t want to believe that you were dark even though you threw everyone that cared about you to the curb,” the red head stated, his tone leaked with frustration. “But then Ministry officials said you had gone back to Privet Drive, that you were messing with the Blood Wards—that’s dark magic!” 

“So no one had a problem with Dumbledore using Blood Wards, but now that it’s me they want to paint me as a new Dark Lady?” Aster hissed out, darkly. She had the absolutely gutted feeling that burst through her right now. The blade of betrayal dug deeper than it had been before, and she looked at Ronald and couldn’t see a trace of the person she once called friend. 

“You are no Dumbledore!” Spat one of the wizard’s flanking Ron. 

A bitter laugh escaped her before she could help it, and she pinned him with a blistering look. “You are right about that. I am no Dumbledore and I never would want to be,” Aster commented, with a smile that was sharp and all teeth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tent blink out of existence right before the ward she put over it faded out of existence. They were now in the tomb, safely away from the battle and that meant Aster didn’t have to keep the kids gloves on. “Relashio Maxima!” 

The spell burst out of the tip of her wand in a shower of yellow light that scattered, smacking the four Aurors and she watched with satisfaction as the wizards were flung off their brooms. “Accio broom!” She cried out, pointing her wand to the closest one. It zoomed and flew into her outstretched hand. She ducked underneath a _Flipendo_ spell cast at her by an Auror, and sent one back at him, sending him head over heels down a sand dune. 

The rock nearby her exploded, shattering underneath a spell she did not recognize flung at her by Ron. The shards smacked and pelted her, and she summoned a shield to stop a large piece from striking her across the face. “Windgardium Leviosa!” She pulled a large stone free from the base of the pyramid and smashed it down on the three brooms lying idle in the sand, taking away any chance they had to chase her once she was airborne. “Give up now! I don’t want to hurt any of you!” 

“Liar! We know what you really are, You-Know-Who!” Auror Halke—if she recalled his name right—shouted, tossing a cutting curse at her. 

She was so taken aback by what he just called her that she barely had the mind to dodge the spell. She hissed violently when it nicked her upper thigh, and used a combination of a wind and lighting spell to wrap the sand around his feet and turn into glass that held him in place. “What the _fuck_ did you call me?” She demanded, absolutely livid. 

“The Ministry knows all about the hocrux! How you took over Lady Potter’s body! You won’t get away with all the evils you committed!” Halke glared, a flicker of fear in his gaze. All the blood blanched out of his face when he realized he had Aster’s sole attention, but he still tried to be courageous in the face of whom he perceived as the most evil wizard of all time. “You won’t get away with the murder of the Girl-Who-Lived.” 

Aster was so mad that she couldn’t speak. With a sharp wave of her wand, she sent out a spell that blasted Halke out of the glass that imprisoned his feet and several feet back before he landed in a motionless heap on the sand. A silvery spell flew over her head and Aster rushed around the corner of the pyramid to act as a shield as she gathered her bearings. That meant two were down—the wizard sent over the dune hadn’t returned, so either he was out or he fled—and that meant there were two more to go. Heart hammering in her chest, Aster twisted her wand in her palm and knew that she had to end this battle fast. She could feel nausea pool up in her gut and the wound along her back ached with each trembling breath. 

Closing her eyes, she braced herself before she rushed out of her cover. She tossed up a shield charm to block the incoming hex, and pointed her wand at the nameless Auror. “Brackium Emendo!” She whispered underneath her breath, watching as the man’s arm that the light hit went limp like a wet noodle. The broken completely disappeared, and she inwardly cackled. It seemed that something that Lockhart had taught had been useful after all. “Stupefy!” She added, after the man went hysterical over his limb and he fell against the ground out cold. 

“Confringo!” 

An explosion hit right behind her and she was thrown forward harshly into the sand. She had to roll to dodge the cutting hex that would have severed her right in half, and that’s when Aster realized that this wasn’t a capture mission. This was a kill mission. Ron was here to kill her, and she stared at him with horror in his eyes. Something inside of her broken, cracked in the most painful way and she could barely breathe. “Ron, stop!” She pleaded, trying to get through to his better side. “I’m not Voldemort! You know the hocrux was destroyed! Why would you believe this lie? It’s ridiculous!” 

“I won’t believe a word out of your mouth, snake!” Ron shouted, angrily. 

“Expelliarmus!” Aster used her signature spell, and Ron wasn’t fast enough to dodge to the side. His wand went flying out of his grip, and lost to the sand when a great gust stirred the sands violently. “Ron…just stop this madness! You know how corrupt the Ministry has proven in the past! Things haven’t changed just because Voldemort is gone,” she continued, breathlessly. She was still trying to get through to him, and get him to see how wrong his misconception was. “I—I don’t want to fight you. Just leave, okay? Just tell the other Aurors I got away! If any part of you was my friend, please do this for m—” 

Ron lunged at her, with a roar. Her body fell backwards, her head glanced the corner of a nearby rock and there was a fleeting moment where her mind went blank with pain. She felt Ron strike her across the face, and brought her knee up harshly to meet his family jewels. He made a choked pained noise, and Aster sprang clear, every muscle and limb twitching from the violence of her efforts. She stared down at the man who had been her friend with sorrow and disgust etched onto her features. “I guess you answered that, now didn’t you?” Aster whispered out. 

“You—you bi—” Ron struggled to get out. 

“Ron,” Aster stated, her tone surprisingly conversational, “eat slugs.” 

A green beam flung off the end of her wand, striking him straight in the face. Aster turned her back on him, smiling grimly as she heard him start to retch up slugs and picked up the broom off the ground. She dusted the sand off of it before mounting it and soared into the air without a second look back. It was nothing like her Firebolt, but it got her over to the large pyramid in under less than a minute. She dropped to the ground, and tossed aside the broom carelessly. 

She was running up the ramp at full pace when a _confringo_ spell crashed into the pyramid right next to the entrance. She slid to a stop, the railing clasped in a knuckle white grip and she slowly turned around to see Hermione standing there at the bottom of the ramp. Time ticked by at a snail’s pace with neither of them saying a single thing. “Look at the mess you made,” Aster clucked her tongue, looking at Hermione with a stoic expression on her face. “Somehow I don’t think the Egyptian Ministry of Magic is going to take too kindly to all the damage you and your cohorts have done. If they even know that you are here, which I’m betting they don’t.” 

A twitch of Hermione’s lips—a subtle tell was all that Aster needed to know that her guess was right. 

“You would have likely gotten away with it, you know? The ambient magic here is a great concealer for spells and such, but seeing how I am technically working here with the approval of the France and Egyptian Ministry, they do send guards to make sure the pyramids are in perfect condition so you probably should leave before they show up,” Aster lied through her teeth, with a sardonic smile written upon her lips. There were no guards—well, magical guards—that would inspect the damage any time soon, but she was tired of the fight. She got no real joy out of facing her former friends, just left with a bittersweet taste on the back of her tongue. 

“I know what you plan to do,” Hermione stated, quietly. 

Aster scrutinized her for a long moment. “Do you now? Good for you, Little Miss Know-It-All.” 

Hermione flinched back. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Why not? I reckon it is a far deal nicer than anything you or Ron have said about me lately given you think I’m the Dark Lord,” the Girl-Who-Lived smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her green eyes were dark and filled with shadows, filled with wariness as she watched every single move that Hermione made. Aster gave a harsh chuckle at the trace of guilt that crossed Hermione’s features. “Yes, I know. I am well aware that the Britain Wizarding World has gotten the strangest belief that the hocrux that was in my head,” she tapped the end of the Elder wand to lightning shaped scar that had healed up and was so light now that it could only be noticed if one was looking for it, “somehow turned me into the Voldemort.” 

“What were we supposed to believe then?” Hermione said, looking genuinely distressed. “It’s just that you haven’t been acting like yourself! You haven’t for years now, you’ve been shutting us out—” 

“What you intend doesn’t matter, and I didn’t start shutting any of you out until you made it clear that you would never let me live my life unless it by your expectations. You wanted me to just bow down to the oppression being foisted upon us now like it isn’t the same thing that Voldemort did,” Aster sneered, looking down her nose at the other woman. She couldn’t comprehend how they couldn’t see the parallels to what was happening now to what was happening then. 

“It isn’t—” 

“ _It is!_ ” Aster said, with a thunderous look. “It is the same hate, the same ideals, just dressed up in a different and more subtle package. How can you stand there and tell me any different? How can you as a woman and witch, a mundane born who is affected most of all deny how badly things have become?” Her voice became more shrill with each words, her dark hair swirled around her face like snakes and she resisted the urge to curse Hermione right on the spot. “We fought against tyrant before, watched people we knew and cared for die in the wake of it and in the aftermath, you would let another rise and take his place. If you all want to be blink sheep led to the slaughter, then you can go on about your way. But I’m done being led blindly and I’m done fighting for a world that never really accepted me.” 

“Never really accepted you?” Hermione blanched. “That’s absurd!” 

“Is it, Hermione? Do you remember in Hogwarts, all it took was one rumor or one mishap and people were turn their backs on me in a heartbeat? But then I was supposed to just accept them back like nothing happened when whatever happened passed?” Aster countered, with a shower of red sparks spewing out of her wand with each word. She saw Hermione take a step back, as if the witch realized just how little control Aster had in this moment. “You and Ron—for all the support you have given—are the exact same way. I must live life as some kind of idol, expected to be this picture perfect image so people can feel better about themselves or the world they live in. Well, fuck that. Fuck all of your expectations.” 

Hermione looked near to tears. Her mouth opened and closed, her brown eyes flickered about as if she were searching her memories. “I…I…” Words failed her for more than a minute, and she drew in a shaky breath. “Maybe you are right. Maybe we don’t deserve you to come back and fix things, and maybe we pushed you away instead of you being influenced by darkness. But you can’t go through with the spell, Asher. Dumbledore had the Elder wand and decades on you in magic knowledge, you will die.” 

Her concern was genuine, but it was too little, too late. Aster stared down at Hermione with a dispassionate stare, and slowly lifted her wand so Hermione could see just what wand she held. The mundane born witch reeled back, shocked and baffled. “But—But—but you broke it—” She stuttered, pressing her knuckles to her lips. A realization passed through her eyes like lightning and she looked up at Aster. “That means—” 

“The Master of Death,” Aster finished, grimly. “And more than capable of starting what I finish.” 

Hermione gaped, floundering for words. 

“I’ll make you the same offer I made, Ron,” Aster spoke, her voice so low that it was barely audible. Each breath felt like she was swallowing broken shards of glass and she felt a couple of tears slid down her cheek, but she kept her gaze focus on the woman at the bottom of the ramp. “If you were truly my friend, then you’ll pretend I got away. You’ll leave me and mine in peace.” 

A wind stirred the sand, shifting the tiny beads of gold as the sun beat down on the mercilessly. Three minutes stretched like eternity where both of them just stood, neither moving nor giving an inch. Finally, Aster turned her back on Hermione and made her way up the ramp when Hermione called out, “Wait!” 

Aster paused, craning her neck to look over her shoulder at the woman. 

Hermione licked her dry and chapped lips, her eyes filling with tears. There was so many words that she wanted to say, but she seemed unable to voice them. “Would you have taken us with you?” She finally asked, tears pooling down her cheeks. “You had made you choice to leave before…before the Sickness struck. I found your notes down in the research lab at Grimmauld Twelve. That’s how we knew you were in Egypt, but I never…I never told the Ministry why you were.” 

Aster stayed silent, giving no indication of her surprise. 

“But…but if things hadn’t turned out the way they had…would you have taken us with you? Or would have still left us behind?” Hermione asked, her voice strained and tears rolling down her red cheeks. 

Aster felt her shoulders sag with a great breath, her expression turned sorrowful and pained. “I would have taken you all with me, if you had wanted to follow me. I wouldn’t have left anyone behind, unless it was their choice,” she admitted, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “You were my family. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for any of you.” 

Hermione sobbed, burying her face into her hands. 

And with that, she walked into the entrance of the pyramid. A flash of light burst out behind her, and the ramp turned in invisible while the entrance to the pyramid looked like it had been sealed up behind the Girl-Who-Lived. 

* * *

Hermione stood there, shaken and pale. Nearly twenty minutes had passed before she was jolted out of her shock by Ron’s hand falling on her shoulder, she saw the group of Aurors trailing behind him looking worse for wear. “Her—Hermione,” Ron said, looking very green. He pressed his hand to his mouth and gagged, and then released a sigh when nothing came up. “Hermione, what happened? You’re crying. Did…did he hurt you badly?” 

_He,_ he said. Not she. Hermione could only stare at him with a grief stricken expression. “No…no,” she shook her head, wrapping her arms around her midsection. Her eyes looked down at the sand, with her wand shaking. “She…she was already gone by the time I arrived. I have no trace of her, or any of those that are possibly with her.” 

“You’re lucky,” Halke hissed, rubbing his bruised face. “That bitch did a number on us.” 

“Yeah,” Hermione whispered, nodding. “Lucky.” 

She felt many things, but lucky was not one of them. 

* * *

Night had fallen upon the desert and anyone searching for the Girl-Who-Lived had long since come and gone. Aster paced anxiously along the subterranean chamber, with a bloody and trembling hand pressed to her lips to stifle the urge to cry that crept up on her ever so often since the battle had occurred. Her eyes were wide and there was a wild look in them, like a wounded animal pushed too far and she tried to act normal for Teddy’s sake. She tried to act okay so the elves wouldn’t worry, but she knew that she was fooling no one. She chewed on her thumb, an anxious and nervous habit she had since she was child. 

She jumped nearly out of her skin when a little tug came on her sleeve, and she looked down to see Dobby staring up at her with big wide eyes. “Is something the matter, Dobby?” She inquired, after her heart settled down from the initial scare the house elf gave her. 

“Dobby knows that Aster Potter has gone through a great deal as of late,” Dobby spoke, wringing his hands together. The small elf was fierce at times, having faced against Bellatrix Lestrange and barely surviving thanks to the healing magics that Aster had Madame Pompfrey teach her in sixth year. And then other time, he still held much meekness and apprehension ever after all this time. “Much more than is fair or deserved. Dobby just wants you to know that…we are here for you, whenever you need us.” 

Aster felt her expression soften. “Thank you, Dobby. I appreciate that. You and the other elves, you all have been remarkable and have had my back even when I’m not entirely sure I deserve such loyalty,” she said, with a small sad laugh. 

“That’s—that’s absolutely gobblygook!” Dobby gaped at her, horrified that she thinks so lowly of herself. “Dobby has seen the great things that Aster Potter has accomplished! He has seen how much you have done for your friend, and all who lived in the Wizarding World, even for elves like me! Dobby saw how you tried to make things better, to fix things, but the bad wizards stopped you even after the war!” 

Aster had tried to make things better for a time. Supporting politicians that wanted to usher in progressive change in the magical world, but her efforts were often scoffed at giving that she did not have a proper upbringing given she was raised by muggles—a derogatory term, she had learned that was only barely better than mudblood so she endeavored to never use it again. That had been shortly before she had received Dumbledore’s letter, and that started her to disillusion her to the world around her. To destroy the last bit of optimism that she had someone clung to all these years that once Voldemort was dead, everything would be alright. 

“Dobby remembers something that he read…” The house elf stated, determinedly. “Holding on takes great strength, but it takes more strength to let go. Dobby knows how hard it is to let go of familiar things, even if they aren’t good for you. Things like the unknown are scary, even more scary when you think you are alone.” 

A swell of emotion gathered in the middle of her throat, stealing her voice. She drew in a few breaths, too quick and labored, and then she managed a wobbly smile. “Has anyone told you, Dobby, that you are one of the most profound people I have ever known?” She asked, her voice bit watery. 

Dobby puffed up with pride and blushed at the praise. 

The air in the tomb immediately shifted, and changed as shadows gathered around. Teddy stopped drawing in his notebook and he rushed to her, instinctively feeling the change. His heightened sense—thanks for Remus—had made Teddy able to pick up on things other children wouldn’t. The house elves moved around uneasily, with Twinkle picking up Flutterby and holding her close. Dobby stood in front of the group of elves at Aster’s side, prepared to fight and protect. 

Death appeared, in his more human visage. It didn’t matter though, there was no mistaking him for a normal human. He had a powerful presence that seemed to envelope the entire room and press upon her mind like a weight. “It’s alright. He…he is here to help?” She sent Death a questioning look, half afraid that he would change his mind because she used the Elder wand. 

Death slanted an amused look at her as if he knew her thoughts. “I am here to help,” the primordial being stated, with a low raspy laugh. 

The tension along her spine eased, and rubbed circles with her thumb on the back of Teddy’s hand where he clutched her hand so tightly. “Teddy, sweetheart,” she said, softly. Her godson looked up at her, his expression very still and quiet. “You remember when I told you that I had to do a big spell. I have do this right now, so I need you to go stand with Dobby and I’m sure Winky will let you hold her hand if you need to, alright?” 

Teddy bit his lower lip like he wanted to protest, but nodded. He walked around behind her and shuffled over the elves, not looking at the scary man in the center of the room. 

Aster watched her, heart tight in her chest. She retrieved the array capture from her bag and placed it in the center of the room where the ley lines and runes were all connected. The magic thrummed through the walls and floor, the vibrations almost like a song and she felt it call the magical core inside of her. Pricking her finger on a needle, she allowed three drops of blood to pour on the array and it crackled violently with bolts of electricity. She involuntary flinched back, but proceed to pour her magic into the array to mix with the remnants of Dumbledore’s. She poured more and more until she was starting to feel light headed, and the Death placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her away. Her head bobbed, weakly. “Wha…?” 

“The point of opening this portal is to survive to see the other side,” Death told her, clucking his tongue in disapproval. Then with a great flourish of his hands, Death poured the remaining power into the array and on the far side of the room the runes flared so bright that it was blinding, and then a portal appeared, shimmering and beautiful. 

Aster sank weakly to her knees in relief at the sight of it. 

“As you pass through, a memory will be taken from you—a toil that is unavoidable,” Death reminded, carefully. 

“What memories will they take?” Aster questioned. 

“That is not for me to decide. It could be a memory of happiness, or one of sadness, or one of love, or one of heartache,” Death replied, vaguely. “But only a single memory will be taken, the rest shall be undisturbed. I will warn you that where you intend to go, that magic works far differently and your power won’t be accessible readily. It will take an adjustment before you are able to use your powers as you do now, without limitations and the house elves will live through the transition, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be unchanged by it.” 

Aster nodded, shakily. She walked over to the group, and looked at the sea of faces looking at her for answers. “Are you all absolutely sure about this? If you don’t want to come with me, you can go to Neville and Luna. They will protect you and offer you shelter,” Aster said, giving them a chance to change their minds. 

Dobby looked back at them, then nodded decisively. “We intends to follow Miss Potter wherever she goes.” 

Aster smiled. “Thank you all so much.” 

Aster slung the knapsack over her shoulder, filled with immediate provisions and supplies while the trunks that had been shrunk down to palm size and had been cast with feather light charms hung tethered on by metal chains, looking like strange key chains. As the house elves gathered their own bags, she gathered Teddy into her arms and rested her forehead against his. “Are you ready?” She asked him, softly. 

“I’m ready, mommy.” 

Aster knew he said those words, but there was no way a child of five could comprehend the irreversible choice that she had made for him. One day, she hoped that he would come understand why she did this. Turning towards the bright light, Aster caught Death’s gaze one last time and he inclined his head acknowledgement. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, and there were too many feelings swirling inside of her just to name one. She felt afraid, anxious, but relieved, too. So many contradictions fluttered around her inside of her head, and she clenched her eyes tight before she walked over to the portal. 

She could hear whispers, like voices and see blurred shapes on the other side. She couldn’t make out just what world sat on the other side, but there was a tremble in her soul—a resonating feeling like something was calling her home. 

And she stepped through. 

* * *

_So crawl on my belly til the sun goes down,_

_I’ll never wear your broken crown,_

_I can take the rope and I can fuck it all the way,_

_But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) Aster—the name is derived from a plant of the daisy family that has bright rayed flowers, typically purple or pink.
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> 2.) The Sickness—is a magical plague, much like the bubonic plague. The reason that more purebloods were affected as opposed muggleborns is because of the inbreeding the Wizarding World oldest families. Inbreeding causes weaker immune systems, so it makes sense that if a magical plague were to happen that the purebloods would be most affected because of their need to keep their blood lines pure.
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> 3.) Array Capture—a small metal disc made from metal—any metal that has the ability to transfer magic—with runes engraved on the front. Array Captures, are something I made up, and they are used to capture residual magic to cleanse an area. The array draws in the magic and holds it until it can be safely used or dispelled elsewhere. Can also be used on armor or buildings to draw in opponents magic, but dark spells breakdown the array, wearing it down and it’s useless against the Unforgivables.
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> 4.) PTSD—I feel Aster (female Harry) would have some form of this after an abusive childhood (even if the abuse wasn’t physically, it was still emotional and neglectful) and then her time at Hogwarts was filled with several dangers and the war. No psych evaluations or therapy done after the many dangers she has faced, that would mess up a full grown adult let alone a child who went through it in their developmental years. Add on top of that, Aster is the kind of person who has a self-sacrificing attitude. She has a need to help people even if she is leaving with Teddy, that instinct was still there but she put it aside to put Teddy first like Lily and James did for her.
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> 5.) Ley Lines—are what many believe to be a grid of earth energies circling around the globe, connecting important and sacred sites such as Stonehenge, the Egyptian Pyramids, and the Great Wall of China.
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> 6.) Protego Totalum—a protection spell that can be used on a dwelling or area. It classified as a charm, and it’s purpose is to shield an area and protect the people in it.
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> 7.) Lumos—a spell that acts like a light to see in the darkness. A magical flashlight if you will.
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> 8.) Incendio—a spell that conjures up flames.
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> 9.) Protego—a shield spell that is used to protect the conjurer from spells or attacks.
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> 10.) Relashio—a jinx that can force an object or person to release their hold on something. It will cause the subject to be forced away from whatever they are grasping. (Relashio Maxima is a stronger version of the spell that can be used against a group of enemies, as opposed to an individual.)
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> 11.) Expecto Patronum—to protect against Dementors by summoning one’s happiest memories. (And in the canon of this fic also can harm the undead, since they have similarities to Dementors.)
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> 12.) Accio—a summoning spell. Caster must say ‘Accio (object they wish to summon’ and the object will come to them. Requires a great deal of concentration and focus.
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> 13.) Flipendo—a standard attack spell that blasts an opponent away.
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> 14.) Windgardium Leviosa—a charm used to make objects fly.
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> 15.) Brackium Emendo—removes the bones out of limb that the spell is directed at.
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> 16.) Stupefy—a spell that stuns an enemy and renders them unconscious.
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> 17.) Confringo—creates a small explosion where the spell lands.
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> PLEASE COMMENT AND LEAVE KUDOS!


	2. UPCOMING STORIES!

Firstly I want to thank everyone for the amazing response to this story. I didn't expect it and was completely blown away by all the kudos, comments and bookmarks that I received. Thank you so much!

Hello, folks. I know, this isn’t a chapter but I wanted to give everyone a game plan for where I am going to take this series and wanted input from you the readers before I proceed. Know that these all won’t be out in a jiffy, real life commitments onto of original stories I’m trying to get out as well as other fan fiction that I have started that take precedents, these won’t be out like one after another. So here we go, this is the list and stories as followed: 

ONE.) “Fragments of Starlight”—A Doctor Who/Harry Potter Cross—Aster Potter had a very normal life in this new world that had no magic or monsters. Her days were split between college and taking care of Teddy and trying to figure out just how she had two hearts now, instead of one. Then a madman with a blue police box shows up, who may have all the answers to her questions and more importantly, may be the family she has been searching for. (One Shot, Over Ten Thousand Words) 

TWO.) “What’s In A Legacy”—A Justice League/Harry Potter Cross—Aster Potter, now under the guise of Leliana Jamie Evans-Black, lives in a world were caped crusaders and aliens protect the world from the worst of humanity and terrifying monsters. Leliana had no plans to put herself in the running of being a hero, but when the life of someone that is dear to her, Leliana is forced to making choices. And these choices put her under the heavy suspicion of Batman and the Justice League. And when her parentage comes to light, it turns everyone’s world upside down. (ONE SHOT, Very Lengthy) 

—While I do like comic cannon to an extent, I’m not going to follow it greatly here. There is a minor undertone of comic cannon from 1957 Batman comics, but only briefly does it touch upon that cannon due to the fact Aster was kidnapped by the ritual Dumbledore preformed. The story will NOT take place in the 1950s. It is just a storyline from the comics that I’m adapting to fanfic here, nothing more. Cannon superhero couples will not be the main focus, jump off ship if you can’t handle alternative pairings. I’m taking a page out of Marvel’s book when it comes to alternate universes and possible pairings with some couples. I will be taking inspiration from TV’s Arrow, Injustice, and others, tweaking and twisting bits into a narrative to fit the universe I’m building. 

THREE.) “Monsters and Men”—A Hannibal/Harry Potter Cross—Aster Potter finds a DNA match in the last place that she ever would have liked to find it. She confronts the father she never knew, and has to figure out what separates men from monsters. (One Shot, Very Short) 

—This is very dark one shot, and you won’t get to see Teddy or the others. They are only briefly mentioned. It really is just a long scene between Aster and her father (whom you’ve probably guessed who it is if you know the show) where she faces him and her inner thoughts. 

FOUR.) “Broken Sky”—A Dragon Age/Harry Potter Cross—Aster Potter was supposed to be with her godson and her friends, but when she crossed the threshold of the portal, a powerful magic lashes out in an explosion. She was thrown and cast adrift, only to find herself spat out of a rift at the feet of an elf that is called the Herald of Andraste and there is no sign of the people she loves most. 

—This won’t be a story that holds every storyline or quest line from Dragon Age Inquisition. I already have a DA fic that I’m working on that is long and lengthy, and have to do double the same stuff but changing it up sounds exhausting and would be burn me out. So it’s mostly chapters about Aster’s experiences and views. 

—Any pairing ideas? I honestly have no set pairings for Aster in this story and since I haven’t technically started writing it, if anyone has any ideas of a good pairing for her then now would be a good time to let me know. 

FIVE.) “Apartment 221C Baker Street”—Sherlock BBC/Harry Potter—Jamie Black and her son, Tobias, are the new residence at Baker Street. To the rest of the world, they appear utterly normal but Sherlock is a man of details and he knows that the Black Family is more than they appear. (One Shot, Lengthy) 

—Pairings Undecided 

SIX.) “The Come and Go Place”—Naruto/Harry Potter Cross—Legend tells of a place that comes and goes, a sanctuary that would house people who needed to be protected most. Being chased by villagers into the woods, Naruto stumbled upon the house that has appeared and meets the occupant inside who will shake the foundation of the Village Hidden in the Leaves. (One Shot, Lengthy) 

—Warning: Heavy Angst and Implied Character Deaths/Pairings: Undecided 

SEVEN.) “From the Ashes, Like a Phoenix”—My Hero Academia—Dropped into a world with her godson and friends nowhere in sight, Aster struggles with her inner demons and the choices that she has made. But when a picture of a woman proves to be a link to her past, she finds herself dragged headfirst into a battle of heroes and villains. 

EIGHT.) “Taste of Night”—TrueBlood—Aster and co. settle down in Bon Temps, Louisanna while Aster looks into her family history and the two deceased parents she left behind. But old magics surround that area and with the power of death, Aster draws more attention she would like. Especially from the vampire Sheriff, Eric Northman. (One Shot, Lengthy.) 

—Pairing: Aster/Eric, very explicit in violent and sexual content 

NINE.) “Where the Lonely Ones Roam”—Assassins Creed—Different Oneshot where Aster could have ended up in the AC timeline. Every chapter will be a different story and different pairing. Expect violent and mature content. 

TEN.) “Selling Life by Breaths”—Marvel Cinematic Universe, Comic Universe—In a world full of Thunder Gods and Men Armored in Iron and Shady Government Organizations, Aster could have thought up several different ideal home worlds that she would have preferred. But Death kept his promise and saw her and her family to the place she was born, now Aster must decide what to do next and where to go from here. But if she idles too long, someone might make that choice for her and it wouldn’t be a good one. (Pairings undecided, typical canon violence and mature content.) 

* * *

ELEVEN.) "Who We Are"--Naruto--Underneath Yondaime Hokage, the Village Hidden in the Leaves flourished but it is not without enemies and those that would see the Yellow Flash and his son, Namikaze Naruto, who houses the legendary Nine Tails Fox inside of him, dead. When grim machinations start to surface and allies seem to grow scarce, an unlikely face resurfaces that threatens to turn Naruto and his father's world upside down. 

THIS IS WHAT I’VE COME UP WITH SO FAR! I WANT TO DO A LOT OF POSSIBILITIES! (These will not necessarily happen in order as listed.) ALSO THE ONLY THREE STORIES OUT OF THIS LIST THAT I HAVE STARTED ARE THE DOCTOR WHO STORY, THE DC STORY, AND THE MY HERO ACADEMIA STORY! GIVE ME SOME FEEDBACK ON WHAT STORY YOU THINK SOUNDS GOOD OR WHAT NOT.


	3. PREVIEW: "Whatever It Takes" DC/Harry Potter Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a preview of one of the sequels of "A New Beginning". I will be giving you a preview of each story, to let you know that I am working on each and every one of them. This is the story that I am almost done with, so I should have it up soon and I hope you all enjoy the sneak peek!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, or anything related to any DC Comics such as Justice League, Batman, Superman, Green Arrow, Injustice, Arrow and more. I don’t own that, I am just challenging myself as a writer by doing fanfiction and using it as a way to receive criticism and feedback.   
> Summary:   
> Pairings: Bruce Wayne/Clara Kent, Aster Potter/Oliver Queen, Aquaman/Wonder Woman, implied Felicity Smoak/Jason Todd (past relationships mentioned)  
> Warning: If you couldn’t tell by the pairings above, I am not going with standard comic cannon pairings nor am I following pairings in the DC TV shows. While many notable characters will be in this one shot, I’ve taken liberties with the cannon and pairings because after all its fanfiction and the sky is the limit here. That being said I am honoring the comics at the same time, I don’t stick to exactly one arc or one era of comic book stories, instead have taken inspirations from the whole to piece together a unique—or what I hope is a unique universe—but since this has a bit of Injustice (with a twist) in it and some stuff borrowed from Justice League the Flashpoint Paradox, there have been and will be some dark moments like superhero deaths. I can’t give anymore away without spoiling stuff, so read and enjoy.

“Whatever It Takes” 

a _Justice League_ and _Harry Potter_ crossover 

by ThroughtheMirrorDarkly

* * *

_Gotham Metropolitan Museum_

The police sirens shrieked in the early morning as sunlight split over the horizon painting the city of Gotham in gold, and tires screeched down the highway as people watched in horror as Wonder Woman struck down Superwoman with a punch so hard that it echoed like thunder. The Amazonian had abandoned her patriotic costume in favor for darker and more muted armor that practically covered her body from head to toe. Her eyes were no longer blue, but fiery red and filled with a burning hatred. 

Superwoman crashed down through the ceiling into the museum, where Cheetah and Green Arrow clashed violently. Her body impacted the ground so hard it formed a small crater, but she was on her feet before Wonder Woman landed before her. “This isn’t you, Diana,” Superwoman said, beseechingly. “Can’t you see that? Can’t you see what Ares has done to you? What you’ve done to yourself?” 

“Done to myself?” Wonder Woman asked, her head cocked to the side. Her dark hair was pinned back out of her face, and her eyes were now red like the flames of hell itself. Every motion, every movement, held a predatory grace and murderous intent that it made the fine hairs on Superwoman’s neck stand up on end. “I am being true to myself more than I ever have been. I was born and trained to be a warrior, and a true warrior’s purpose is to conquer. If you would only see the change I want to bring to this world and join me—” 

“I could never stand by and watch you subjugate the world,” Superwoman interrupted her, hands clenched into fists at her side. “The things you have done and justified to yourself—you’ve slaughtered innocents, Diana!” 

“Mortals, I have found are hardly ever innocent,” Wonder Woman sneered, rushing forward. They collided in a blur of fists and titanic power; their surroundings cracked and broke with the force of their fighting. 

In the floor above them, Aquaman battled Batman. 

“Enough, Arthur!” Batman growled out. 

“Enough?” Aquaman hissed, angrily. “It is never enough. It won’t ever be enough. You humans take so much for granted, praising virtues in which none of your kind can claim while turning a blind eye to the damage you to the world around you. Your kind destroyed my people, my home and if I have to rebuild it on the back of your bones then so be it!” 

Batman dodged the blast of power that shot out of the tip of the trident. “Wonder Woman isn’t going to help you rebuild your home, Arthur. She is just feeding and using your anger to her advantage,” the Dark Knight clicked on a button along his gauntlet. The explosive gel he had placed along the floor when he dodged was now right beside Aquaman’s foot, and with a burst it exploded with a loud roar. The flooring beneath the Alantian crumbled out from underneath him, and he fell down into the floor below. “Overwatch, has the vault been breached?” He asked, roughly. 

_“The vault door has been opened, but from the cameras, no one is inside yet,”_ Overwatch informed him, her tone composed and crisp came through the earpiece in his ear. _“Green Arrow is holding Cheetah at bay, but Superwoman isn’t doing so good against Wonder Woman. She is going to need aid—no, Wally, you aren’t going down there so don’t even suggest it!”_

The reprimand Overwatch gave the Flash would have made him smirk ever so slightly, if it hadn’t been for the dire circumstances. The Flash had been nearly beaten beyond recognition by Bane a few days ago and even with his advanced healing, he still wasn’t ready to be in the middle of a fight of this magnitude. Batman dropped a smoke bomb down into the hole in the floor, before he leapt down there to continue his fight. 

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Green Arrow mocked, his tone harsh and abrasive. His bow in hand, he had an arrow notched back and his eyes flickered through the hallway. His chest heaved up and down with deep breaths, claw marks ran down the length of his left arm. The blood slid down his skin in thin rivulets, and his attacker vanished too quickly to pinpoint where she disappeared to. A shadow moved out of the corner of his eye, and if he had been a second slower then he would have cut deep by the razor sharp claws that Cheetah was known to tear me apart with. 

He released an arrow, but the limber villainous dodged out of the way. It nicked her across the side, causing her eyes to flash with animalistic anger. She looked ready to pounce on him, but she twitched, and then ran off when two bat-rangs sailed through the air towards her. Batman appeared a moment later, with a furious Aquaman on his tail. “Watch your back, you watch mine?” The archer asked, with a blond brow raised. 

Batman nodded, mutely. 

The battle between villains and superheroes raged onward. The museum and its artifacts taking a devastating blow from all the gadgets and superpowers breaking down the walls and foundation, but it all came to a head when Wonder Woman realized she couldn’t outright beat Superwoman so she rushed towards the vault without hesitation. Superwoman flew hot on her heels, and was going so fast that when Diana cried out in pain that she couldn’t halt. She felt her body pass through the archway into the vault, it was like cobwebs running across her from head to toe and she felt face first into the floor. 

It was a sensation that Superwoman had felt one other time, years and years ago when she was a college student. The sensation of magic draining out her powers, and leaving her nothing more than a mortal; judging by Wonder Woman who lay prone across the floor just a few feet away, it seemed that the Amazon was just as affected. Superwoman pushed herself to her feet with a groan, feeling like her equilibrium had been thrown off. Raising her head, she went stock still when she saw that they weren’t alone in the room. 

There stood a figure draped in ratty and tattered black cloak, a _moretta_ mask upon their face and with an ancient leather bound book in their gloved hand. The journal of Nicolas Flamel that Wonder Woman had so desperately sought was now in the hands of a mysterious foe. The masked figure tilted their head to observe the murderous Amazon to look upon the confused Kryptonian, before they raised their hand, wiggling their fingers in a parody of a greeting. A burst of magic erupted in a wave of blue and gold sparks that soared from those fingers, and slammed into Wonder Woman. 

The Amazonian let out a horrific scream, clutching her arms where runes were burnt into her flesh. Aquaman who had been rushing to his cohort’s defense, entered the room and threw his trident at the mask figure who vaulted up and out of the way, floating upward and suspended in the air unnaturally. The trident crashed through the wall, crumbling it down and the masked figure placed a hand on their hips and cocked their head to the side in a way that said, _Now look at what you did._

Cheetah paused, briefly her gaze flickered to Superwoman. 

“Ignore her! She’s powerless! Get the one with the book!” Wonder Woman snarled, angrily. 

Cheetah leapt upward across the walls and lunged at the masked figure, only to fall flat on her face when the masked figure disappeared with a loud crack. 

Green Arrow shot an arrow out, that exploded in midair and expanded out into a net that wrapped around the villainous while Batman used a specialized bat-rang that sunk into Aquaman’s arms, injecting high powered tranquilizers into his veins. The Last King of Atlantis collapsed to the ground with a mute groan. Superwoman turned, starting towards Wonder Woman who was clawing at the glowing symbols. Diana’s head jerked up towards the Kryptonian and she sneered, darkly. “This isn’t over,” and in burst of shadows and flame, the former hero was gone. 

“What…just happened?” Green Arrow demanded, hotly. 

_“A new player on the field?”_ Overwatch suggested, through their ear pieces. 

“Whoever they were, they got away with the book that Wonder Woman was after,” Superwoman sighed, brushing off some rumble from her shoulder. She glanced around the room, using her x-ray vision to make sure that the masked figure wasn’t still here and just invisible. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened. “I don’t know whether to be grateful she didn’t get it, or be concerned that we have a new threat to worry about. The masked person did help us…” 

“I hate magic,” Green Arrow grumbled, his expression dark and thunderous. “I don’t trust it. Even if they helped, the enemy of our enemy isn’t necessarily our friend.” 

_“Careful there, Robin Hood,”_ the Flash commented, over coms from the WatchTower. _“You are starting to sound more and more like Bats.”_

Batman had a stony expression on his face. “Flash, go inform the rest of the League of this development. Overwatch, piece together any footage you can find to give us a clue at our mystery guest. I’ll go speak to the Commissioner—” He cut off when the scanner on his belt made an alarm sound, and he pulled it free in the blink of eye. The screen expanded when he flipped it open to a news broadcast about the Joker escaping Arkham Asylum. 

Batman glanced over at Superwoman, who smiled at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Go. We’ll take care of everything here,” the kryptonian woman reassured him, with a slight dip of her head. Only a person who did not know him would have missed the way Batman’s expression softened at her touch, nor the way he reached up to grasp her hand to give a quick reassuring squeeze before he grappled up and away. 

* * *

_Wayne Manor_

_Later That Evening_

Wearing an elegant royal-blue Versace gown with a plunging neckline and an asymmetrical deep V back, Clara Kent entered the ginormous mansion with a tip of her head towards Alfred Pennyworth who was milling about making sure everything was in order with the waitresses and waiters hired for the charity event. The champagne bottles popped to light applause and crystal flutes were filled with the bubbly liquid to the rich and wealthy Gotham City elite, and she plucked a tiny cucumber and cream cheese sandwich off a passing tray unable to help herself. She never quite liked coming to such upscale events, but as a lead journalist for the Daily Planet, she had to swallow her nerves and get the job done. It was laughable that she had been doing this for nearly ten years and yet she still managed to get nervous. 

A hand pressed to her lower back, and she knew who it was without looking. Her heightened senses allowed her to pick up on the familiar, self-assured gait amongst the noisy and loud crowd. The sound of his heartbeat was like finding home and the scent of musky aftershave, sandalwood with a trace of coconut reached her nose. Before she had met Bruce Wayne, she always imagined him to be the type to use expensive and headache inducing colognes. She had been pleased to learn he abhorred the stuff like she did. That had been nearly seventeen years ago and their relationship had changed over the years, having gone from outright antagonistic to a tentative friendship to a romantic relationship neither one of them say until it practically smacked them in the face. 

“You made it,” she smiled, with adoration warm in her blue eyes. She stared up at the man who was only three inches taller than herself, unable to help how her eyes swept over him to check for wounds. He strong proud jaw paired with a long aristocratic nose and heavy set blue eyes was what tall, dark and handsome dreams were made up of in his custom fit Armani suit and tie. It was amazing how boyish and charming he could be when she knew how the handsome contours of his face could be downright terrifying given the right circumstances. “I had thought your meeting was going to go on forever.” 

Her words really meant: _I was worried about you._

“Negotiations went smoothly so the meeting didn’t last as long as I thought it would,” Bruce replied, a smile touching the edges of his mouth. _Everything is alright. The Joker is back in Arkham where he belongs,_ his words echoed back. 

Both she and Bruce wore masks on a daily basis, to cover for the fact that she was Superwoman and he was Batman. She pushed her thick framed black glasses to the bridge of her nose, and ran a hand across her dark brown hair that had been swept up into a simply yet stylish bun. They lived very dangerous lives with facing villains almost every day, and it hadn’t been easy to have a relationship with each other. There had been a time three short years ago when they had been married—three years ago when they had been so happy, and then in the blink of the eye, a painful tragedy stole away their happiness. It had been so bad of a divorce that she never imagined that they would find their way back together, but over the last year of battling against Wonder Woman who had turned against the morals in which the Justice League stood for, the pair had rekindled their relationship. 

Diana Prince had been engaged to a man named Trevor Barnes. The pair had met through the work they both did at the United Nations, and over time had developed into a deep and loving relationship. It had gotten to a point where Diana wanted to live a normal life with Trevor, and so she asked to be striped of her immortality and her powers to be able to grow old and age with him. But Fate was cruel to the newlyweds when an explosion happened at the building where the UN had an important meeting taking place. It was because of Zara—the leader of the Cult of the Crimson Flame who was a pyrotechnics expert—that the building had exploded and claimed the life of Wonder Woman’s fiancé. Zara had blamed the UN and Wonder Woman for not stopping slavers from human trafficking and for the pain she endured as a child who had been sold into slavery. 

Diana wanted vengeance. Nothing would sway her mind. When her mother had refused to give her back her powers for the revenge she craved, Wonder Woman had gone to Ares. Clara knew that it had cost Diana something vital to make a deal with Ares. Whatever good could have been reached in Diana had been destroyed, crushed underneath the darkness that fed the need for revenge in her heart. Diana had killed Zara and the cultists in cold blood, but her parting words about it being only the beginning made Clara fear what the Amazon would do next. Diana knew how to strategize and plan battles, knowing that brute force would only take her so far and she had many allies in the political world. It left a lot of uncertainty in the wake of her turn from good and each encounter where they have foiled Wonder Woman for the most part just left Clara feeling like they were missing something important. 

_“—did you see—back together—”_

_“—misplaced guilt—obligations for the child—”_

“After so many years of being around this, you’d think I would have gotten used to the shark smiles and backhanded comments,” Clara said, with a false cheerfulness. She could hear a lot of comments—nasty ones directed at herself because of the man attached to her. There was a time when she lacked self-confidence and those comments would have hit her hard. It was probably laughable considering she was Superwoman, the invisible icon. Now, it was like a fly buzzing around—annoying, but bearable until the word “child” passed their lips. 

It made her want to hit something very, very hard. 

“We can slip out in about an hour,” Bruce whispered, against the shell of her ear. “Just behave until then, alright?” 

“You have more faith in me than I have in myself, if you think I can behave for an entire hour listening to these gossiping windbags,” Clara replied, out of the corner of her mouth. “But I suppose I will try,” she added, after a moment, “for you.” 

“That’s all I ask.” 

“Did we…” Clara chose her words, carefully. She was mindful of the eyes and ears, eager to get a good story or scandal. “Did we every figure out why our friend needed to borrow that book?” 

“Which friend?” Bruce asked. 

“Our old one,” Clara simplified. “Not the new one.” 

Bruce shook his head, slightly. “Whatever the reason, we can’t figure it out. Only speculate. Given the questionable reading material and the occult plotline, it doesn’t seem that anything good could from reading that book,” he replied, with his brow furrowed together. His lips were pursed with displeasure, and he glanced down at his watch as if that would make the time go faster. Bruce didn’t enjoy these parties any more than she did, even if they were for charity. 

Oliver Queen showed up, cueing loud questions from journalists that sit like vulture near the entrance and the bright flashes of cameramen. His blond hair was slicked back out of his face, and his beard had been trimmed neatly. He wore a deep navy suit with a silvery tie that was just a size too large to skillfully hide his muscles beneath the expensive fabric, a subtle attempt to hide just what he was capable of. He flashed his pearly whites at the camera with a practiced grace, and behind him a woman followed with her head bent, fingers gliding over her cellphone. 

She was none other than Leliana Evans-Black, Oliver’s trusted PA and followed him through events like this like a dutiful shadow. She was a younger woman in her mid-twenties if not younger with alabaster toned skin that made the color of her red velvet dress pop. It was a one shoulder dress that had a long sleeve, fit the woman’s supple curves like a glove and high slit that exposed just enough to be enticing and not scandalous. Her ebony hair was styled in elegant waves like old Hollywood starlets, and her eyes were lined with charcoal in cat style eyeliner look that made her vivid emerald eyes pop. Her lips were painted red were curled into a small smile, but Clara could tell that it wasn’t a genuine smile no matter how convincing it may seemed to the people that Oliver and Leliana spoke to. 

Many tabloids made up stories about Oliver Queen and his every loyal PA since she had appeared three years ago, but they had dried up in time when nothing ever seemed to indicate the two were closer than boss and assistant. Clara, however, had very keen observation skills; she had to in order to be the high paid journalist that she was. There were undertones, instances of intimacy between the pair that many had miss. Leliana’s watchful green eyes that keep nosy journalists or unpleasant company away with a well-aimed baleful glance, or how Oliver hand steers Leliana through the throng of people away from a drunken man who crudely express interest in her. The two revolve around each like moon and earth, like a well-practiced dance and with an incredible amount of trust. There were also stolen glances—little looks that lasted no more than heartbeat—but there was also a distance, invisible walls between the pair that kept whatever was between them firmly professional. 

Both of them obviously wanted more, but hesitated. Clara didn’t know what Leliana’s hesitations were, but she knew Oliver’s stemmed from a very painful and tragic loss. 

Eight years ago, Dinah Lance the Black Canary had been murdered by Damien Darhk. A magic user that been bent on revenge and regaining his former immortality and Green Arrow had killed the man in retaliation before his ritual had been completed. Burn to ashes, Damien would never rise again, but it was poor consolation to the man who had lost a woman had been so much of his life. Dinah and Oliver hadn’t been together for a couple of years before her death, but she still had a big piece of his heart regardless. In the aftermath, Oliver had quit being Green Arrow and had put the suit up. It was three years ago, he put it back on and Clara always wondered what or _who_ compelled him to be a hero again. 

Bruce had never been able to get a solid answer out of the man, even when he was dressed up intimidatingly as Batman, but he thought the reason he put the mask back on had to do something with Leliana. It made Clara want to know just how the reserved and polite PA convinced him where the rest of the league had failed. 

“How long do you think until Oliver realizes that he is incredibly jealous of the men that ask Miss Evans-Black to dance?” Clara chuckled, in open amusement when Leliana gently lets down the gentleman asking for a dance while Olivier glares stonily at the man as if trying to turn him into a pile of ash with his glower alone. She hoped that Oliver would learn to love again—the hardest and most painful lesson a person could ever learn—and take a chance on the dark haired woman before it was too late. For all he has been through, the Green Arrow deserved a bit of happiness at the end of the day. 

“Olivier’s stubborn and he rakes himself over the coals of guilt constantly. I give it another decade before he would dare to make a move on her if she stays available for that long,” Bruce commented, with a hearty sigh falling off his lips. “He also has to make peace with the fact that she is sixteen years his junior.” 

“True,” Clara winced, slightly. She felt herself tense up when Oliver and Leliana drew near, but released a sigh of relief when they passed by, with Ollie only give a shallow nod of acknowledgement. He would probably come back over, but with so many people asking about the new tech that Queen Consolidates was producing, she knew that he would be a busy man. 

Of course, Bruce didn’t miss a single detail and felt need to comment. 

“You’re unnerved by her,” he said, quietly. His blue eyes flickered to dark haired woman’s back, with a deep frown on his lips. 

Clara gnawed on her lower lip. She didn’t want to put Leliana under the full weight of Bruce’s scrutiny. She seemed like a wonderful and nice woman from what little interact they’ve had. “Unnerved isn’t exactly the word I would use. It isn’t anything to do with anxiety or fear,” Clara spoke, her voice soft and confused. There was just something about being up close to her, seeing those wide emerald eyes stare back at her that made her feel uneasy. Not bad as if she was being threatened, but like she had forgotten something so vital. It was a feeling that gnawed at her, a memory that danced on the edge of her mind that she couldn’t quite put together. “There’s…something familiar about her. Like I’ve seen her before and like I should _know_ her, but I can’t quite figure out just where. It’s maddening because I feel like it’s important and every time I fail to figure it out, I feel a knot twist tighter in my chest.” 

Bruce isn’t satisfied with her answer. She can tell by little furrow of worry in his brow that no other person would have caught unless it had been Alfred or Dick. “You are going to look into her, aren’t you?” Clara said, unhappily. 

“I already have.” 

Clara arched a brow. 

“Oliver is a friend. I don’t like people taking advantage of my friends,” Bruce defended, looking disgruntled by having to admit he even had friends. She loved him dearly, but he was so emotionally constipated that it was like pulling teeth to get him to admit he was a big softy underneath all that Batman gruff. “I did a standard background check on her.” 

“And?” She prompted, poking a finger gently into his side. She was always mindful of her strength. 

“The background came back clean. There were no errors in her birth certificates, schooling, and medical history. She had a child at seventeen. An eight year old boy by the name of Theodore Black who is marveled as a prodigy last I read. Other than a couple of speeding tickets in her lifetime, there are no red flags to be found,” Bruce informed her, the pair making their way to the balcony for a bit of privacy. He shut the door behind them to cut off the loud noise of music, and walked over to his fiancée. “I’ll do a more thorough background check when the party clears off.” 

“You don’t have to go through such trouble,” Clara told him. 

“Clara, you have good instincts. Your judgment is one that I would follow without question. If you feel that something is off with Oliver’s PA then I trust it,” Bruce replied, seriously. “It could be nothing serious, but with the way things are now…I’d rather leave nothing to chance, if I can help it.” 

Clara rolled the tension from her shoulders. “I suppose you are right. You usually are. Fine, we’ll look more into her. I’ll see if Collin can spare Felicity for a few days. Her and Barbra are powerhouses in their own right, but together there isn’t anything they can’t do. I believe those two could do the impossible if they set their minds to it,” the Kryptonian said, quietly. Collin Sullivan was her best friend from high school, who now ran the Daily Planet and had a genius daughter named Felicity Smoak. Felicity helped fortify the WatchTower when she was only a preteen and had taken over the main hub responsibilities alongside of J’onn Jones when she was sixteen under the name of Overwatch. At eighteen, she started her company SmoakTech and helped upgrade the Justice League mainframe every other week, especially with Wonder Woman having invested hackers into trying to corrupt the WatchTower. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Bruce questioned. 

Clara raised a brow. 

Bruce sighed, heavily. “Jason doesn’t get anything done when Felicity is around.” 

Jason Todd, the new Robin, had quite a bit crush on Felicity. 

“I’m sure Barbra will be able to keep him in line,” she grinned, with a light laugh. “If not, she can just threaten him with you beaming down from the WatchTower and kicking his butt into shape. That give him the scare he needs into behaving. But let’s not borrow trouble right this second. I’d rather just savor being here with you for as long as I can without the outside world pressing in.” 

“The way you say savor makes me think that you have plans for me, Miss Kent,” Bruce smirked, his blue eyes became hooded. He stepped forward, his fingers stroked on the side of her neck lightly and he bent his head down to rest his forehead against hers. “What nefarious plans do you have in store for me this time?” 

She surveyed him through her eyelashes, with a deliberately slow gaze that held heat and fire while the corner of her mouth turned upward. Tonight would be one of the few nights after they slipped away that she would have him all to herself in a long time, and she intended to make the most of it. “Nothing that would put a strain on your faculties,” she said, coyly. “And I think you will find my nefarious plans to your liking.” 

The kiss was a gentle and lazy exploration, a slow simmering heat that stirred something heady up in her blood and Clara’s body softened, pressing forward against his body. The crisp layers of the suit were just enough resistance to keep her from feeling the hard planes of his body like she wanted to and her hands quivered in the urge just to tear it off of him. He had fussed the last time she did that at a party, but she knew he had enjoyed it nonetheless. She felt a hint of his teeth, and tip of his tongue that licked at the seam of her mouth. She opened her mouth, to let him take charge of the kiss— 

Gunfire erupted from somewhere inside of the mansion. 

* * *

Leliana Jamie Evans-Black read the message on her cellphone. Her heart is clenched tight with fear, all her organs seem to sink into the bottom of her feet and it takes everything in her to keep up the tight-lipped composure that she is so well known for. The mask that she wears in front of the flashing cameras and people she doesn’t trust, is that of a cold, analytical woman who is career driven with few if any emotional connections. The truth was that Leliana, formerly Aster Potter, was the opposite of what she appeared, driven heavily by her emotions. The most notable emotion that drove her forward was fear—the fear of loss, the fear of love, the fear of so many things that would shatter if they were to happen. 

It would be easier if she had never become a PA to Oliver Queen, or didn’t work in just a high profile place as Queen Consolidates. Easier to hide beneath the radar and sneak by with no eyes on her back, but choices were so finicky and impossible to predict. A choice she made here could collide with someone else’s choice, and in a way such colliding choice is why she had met Oliver in the first place. She had been in a dark place after setting up plausible and rock solid backgrounds for her and Teddy, as well as the house elves who could use a human glamour to hide their true forms so that they may interact with the outside world without fear. She had to dip into mind arts, and use imperio on a number of people to her shame, in order to get the job done. 

The justifications for using such dark arts just left a sour taste in her mouth. She hated having those spells used on her during the war, and to use them on another person just left a blight deep in her soul. _The end justifies the means,_ was a poor excuse in her mind, but one that she clung to in the early days in order to make it through for everyone who depended upon her. She was the one that drug her family through an archaic ritual and into a new world with the help of Death, so it was her responsibility to see that they were taken care and protected. 

And she needed just a moment, just a split second to let all that fall away. 

So she claimed a seat on a park bench, allowing herself a brief respite. Beside her on the park bench was a strange man. Normally, this would be a wholly bad situation. Strange man in the park sounded like the beginning of every horror story played on the evening news, but he hadn’t been creepy strange. Just a strangely sad man with blond hair and deep hazel eyes, with a beard style that shouldn’t work on anyone yet just added a level of charm to him. He wore nice suits, with a bag of bird seed in his hands and fed the pigeons with idleness like he just needed something in order to pass the time—in order to have the seconds in the day not seem so monotonous and grey. 

For all the love in her heart for her son and her mismatched family, Leliana had been a lonely soul with no focus or drive that wasn’t attached to building a happy life for her family. She was a lonely soul that appreciated the call of sorrow in the stranger that always found a seat next to her. So by the third time they had found themselves on the bench in the matter of two weeks’ time, she gathered up her courage and started a conversation. He was hesitant, at first. Given who he was, he had to be. Not that Leliana knew who was, she had more important things on her mind than to listen or pay attention to celebrity gossip. The conversations that followed were painfully polite, and it wasn’t until she brought Teddy with her one day that the man softened. Teddy had a way to doing that, a way of making people happy with just a smile. 

One day, the man that she knew as Ollie walked her home. Her magic had glossed across his thoughts, not enough to be intrusive, but enough to see that his intentions were pure before she agreed. There were gang issues arising in Star City, a gang called the Toymakers led by a villain named the Trickster; he, his wife and son who had been terrorizing the streets. When he had found the hovel that they lived in which old windows that couldn’t lock and a front door that looked one good kick could knock it in, he hadn’t been happy. (He didn’t know that her magic fortified the rundown place, and it was much nicer on the inside.) 

Soon afterwards, he offered her a job at Queen Consolidates and revealed that he was Oliver Queen, billionaire and celebrity. He needed a PA that he could trust after his last one Isobel Rochev had tried to steal from the company, and the position paid a good amount that could easily upgrade her family’s living situation. Leliana refused the offer at first, stating that she had money for a nicer place—understatement of the century, she was loaded—but was trying to be wise with it. That was completely true, just not for the reasons one would automatically assume. It wasn’t the amount of money that she was worried about or having to save back, it was putting too much into a bank or spending too much right away that she tried to avoid. 

After all, money talks and sometimes, the things it says might not always be good ones. She hadn’t wanted anyone to place her under scrutiny until she was absolutely certain that it would stand up to the test. If it had just been her, she might have been more liberal with her decision. As it stood, she was a paranoid bitch with a self-sacrificing complex that would see her gnaw off her own arm rather than place those that she loved in the slightest danger if she could damn well avoid it. 

However, Oliver was stubborn just as she was. He had liked that she hadn’t known who he was, and that she was determined to carve her own way instead of letting someone hand it to. She wanted to earn what she had, and that was a novelty when it came to people who wanted to get close to him. So he offered the job, helping finding a house, and a person to teach her how to manage a budget so she could get her family out of the area where the Trickster had been targeting. When a building across the street had been exploded and people killed, it had prompted Leliana into accepting the offer. 

Leliana was a powerful witch, there was no denying that. She was, however, not a god and no matter how much protection she put into place to keep her family safe, there was no such thing in life as a hundred percent guarantee safety. What if Dobby and Winky had been out on the street, taking a walk like they loved to do? What Teddy and Flutterby had been playing in the playground that the building had collapsed down upon only seconds after the explosion? She had been sitting out on the steps of her building when firefighters and police swarmed the scene, and Ollie showed up almost immediately afterward. Pale-faced and stricken, she looked him the eye and just nodded. 

In two days, they were moved into a new home and Leliana started her job. She made sure to be efficient and meticulous, putting every inch of what Andromeda taught her about manners and etiquette into practice. She was determined to earn her place in the company, and to prove that Oliver’s good faith had been worth it. She did keep a professional front with him, though she lowered her walls when they were one on one. Not completely lowered, but she was more open and more true to herself around him than with any others, sans her family. 

There was a swell of affection and dare she say adoration, she felt for Oliver though she would never admit it out loud. What she felt sounded too close to love, and by Merlin, she didn’t want to be in love. Love made things messy and complicated, and she liked being at ease with Ollie. She like how they worked together with the smoothness of a well-oiled machine. She didn’t want to lose that so she worked hard and was unfaltering loyal to the man who showed her kindness when it gained him nothing to do so. She had been a stranger to him; he could have turned his back and washed his hands of the situation without batting an eye. Instead, he helped her and she couldn’t put into words the swell of appreciate and adoration that she held for him. He had a good heart and a lot of demons, but Oliver Queen was someone that Leliana realized she would go to the ends of the earth to protect. He had become one of her “precious people” as Teddy liked to say, and precious people were protected at all cost. 

“You’ve got that frown,” Oliver told her, with a blond brow arched. 

“Oh?” Leliana glanced at him, out of the corner of her eye. “What frown would that be?” 

“The one that says you are thinking way too damn much to be at a party,” he retorted, with a guilelessly sort of smile. 

She snorted. “I always think too damn much regardless of the venue. We did a really good job, though, didn’t we? Everything looks nice, every detail is in place, and hopefully everything runs smoothly,” she said, a hint of nervousness in her babble. It had been a joint charity event between Wayne Enterprises and Queen Consolidates, meaning Leliana was one of the people who handled the arrangements to get the ball rolling. However, parties tended to make her nervous and uncomfortable. Her Potter Luck always got her into sticky situations, so when things were going _too_ right she felt like the other shoe was about to fall. 

“Everything is perfect. You have an eye for detail,” Oliver reassured her, taking her arm and leading her through the crowd over to a corner where they could sit down. They had made the rounds and talked to some politicians and stock holders, so now they could get a brief break so long as no one else interrupted them. 

“You’re biased.” 

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” 

Leliana smiled, her expression softened ever so slightly. Her cellphone buzzing in her hand, startled her slightly. Her eyes darted down towards it, but only someone as close to her as Oliver picked up on the anxiety of the action. 

“Is it Teddy?” Ollie inquired. 

She nodded, after reading the short text. “He’s finally asleep. Donald had some trouble putting him to sleep, he usually likes me to read him a story and tuck him in,” she responded, a shadow of despair falling over her face like a dark veil. Her throat trembled, she dropped the phone down into her silver clutch and snapped it shut. Donald, or better known as Dobby, would let her know if anything changed. She hated being away from her son. The constant fear that lived in her now would drive her to do desperate things, and she was so aware of how monsters could be born in desperation. 

His hand settled on top of hers, his thumb brushed along her knuckles with a feather light touch. His hands were hands that had hurt and helped; hands of hard worker and out of place on a man who grew up in a life of luxury. His long and powerful fingers had callous, specific to holding and harness different weapons. The back of his knuckles held scars from the brunt of fistfights and an unparalleled need to survive. Behind the stylish sports cars and suits and charming smiles, Oliver lived and breathed a life of violence in efforts to make the world a better place. 

He was the Green Arrow, though he didn’t know she knew. 

She had found out on accident. She had noticed him in pain a few times, and a couple of bruises here and there. Leliana had grown up having to hide bruises and pain inflicted on her by her uncle and aunt and cousin, so she knew all of the signs of abuse. It was not as common for men to be the victims of abuse as women were, but it still happened. When he would blow off her inquiries as if he were right as rain, Leliana decided to use a bit of subterfuge to get to the truth because if someone was hurting him then she was going to make whoever was responsible life a living hell. She threw on her invisibility cloak, and stalked him one night. 

Imagine her surprise when he had a secret lair underneath a club he owned called, _Verdant._ She almost rolled her eyes at the name when she realized he was the Green Arrow. He certainly had a theme and was whole heartedly sticking to it. She realized that his wounds weren’t from abuse though, but from crime fighting. His adult son, Conner Hawke, worked on the computer which wasn’t surprising given he was a technical genius. Connor stood as tall and broad as his father, with a boyish grin and dark rich skin and sharp eyes the color of molasses in the sun. He was witty and intelligent, always keeping his father on his toes even during a mission. John Diggle, the retired hero Spartan and wheel chair bound due to an old war injury that worsened over time, was also training Connor to one day taken on a hero career of his own. 

Leliana lingered, a silent and unseen observer for the entire of the mission. She had a feeling that John knew that something was off, his eyes constantly scanned the hide out as if to spot something out of place. There was also a moment where Oliver noticed something. It was when she slipped past him through the open door after he had returned to his civilian clothes, and he went utterly still, suspicion etched into his features. She wasn’t sure what almost gave her away, but she never did return to the hide out. Instead, she opted to put potions—stamina potions, healing potions—into his drinks. The bitterness of black coffee covered the taste of the potions. 

It was a little underhanded, but she wanted to help him in some way. Give him some advantage so he would make it home alive and whole at the end of the day. She didn’t worm her way in or bash her way into that part of his life like she would have only a few years ago, but she was more a Slytherin than a Gryffindor nowadays. Instead, she felt that if he wanted her to know then he would tell her. Besides, it would be hypocritical for her to call him out on his secrets when she had a wealth of her own to protect. Her green eyes flickered to her boss, a slight frown danced upon the edges of her mouth and she sipped delicately on the champagne, savoring the seductive burn trailed down her throat. She had looked up the history of the Green Arrow shortly after she figured out he was Oliver, and knew the reason he stopped being a hero was because of the death of Dinah Lance, the Black Canary. 

Her heart broke for him when she found that out. She had lost a lot of people in the Second Wizarding War. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, George, so many that she had been close to and counted amongst family. Their deaths were a burden still that set upon her shoulder and no amount of world hopping could erase it. She had never found a reason to be a hero again, too disillusioned by the corruption and crumbling friendships to stay in that world and find a reason to try. But Oliver had found a reason to get up and try again. A week after the explosion that prompted her to take the PA job, the Green Arrow was on the news alongside of the Flash. The pair had teamed up to take down the Trickster and his family before any more lives had been lost. 

Leliana wondered, if she had played any part in his decision. Such a thought left her with a tangled knot of emotions that she couldn’t work out in her head, and made her very anxious despite her cool exterior. “He’s been a little under the weather,” she told him, with a strained smile. “So I’ve been stressed. I suppose that I can’t help, but to be worried.” 

“You’re a parent,” Oliver told her, lightly. “It comes with the territory.” 

“I guess it does,” Leliana chuckled. She glanced down at their entwined fingers, and after a long pause, released his hand. She settled it in her lap, folded over her silver clutch and tried to ignore the way her skin still tingled from his touch. 

“Don’t worry,” Oliver spoke up, straightening his tie even though it was perfectly fine. “Nothing is going to happen.” 

A gasp tore through her lips, and she covertly squatted his arm when she sure no one was looking. 

“What did I do to deserve that?” Oliver laughed. 

“Because you!” She whispered out, pointing an accusing finger at him. Her expression incredulously, and her brows were furrowed together into a knot. “You just said nothing is going to happen. That’s taunting fate! You don’t do that! It’s a law, some guy named Murphy wrote about it!” 

Oliver gave her a deadpanned stare. “Don’t you think you are going overboard?” 

“My life experience says not,” she retorted, giving him a tiny glower. 

Gunfire erupted from near the entrance. Leliana was rattled by the burst of noise, memories of a magical war flashed behind her eyes and knocked the breath from her lungs. She surged to her feet—to fight or to flee—but Oliver grasped her by the waist and moved with the swiftness of his battle honed senses. While many people ducked and covers, or screamed, Oliver dragged Leliana through the servant’s entrance and down a flight of stairs. “Oliver, those people—” Leliana rasped out, her conscious was unsettled by leaving innocent—well, mostly innocent people to gunmen. 

“The gunmen shot up towards the ceiling to startle everyone into compliance,” Oliver told her, his voice hurried and rushed. “They aren’t looking to massacre everyone at the charity. They are here for a specific reason.” 

“A specific reason doesn’t mean they won’t hurt people,” Leliana responded, sharply. 

“No, they’ll definitely try to hurt some people, but they won’t get a chance.” 

“You don’t know that!” Leliana argued, when he pulled her down a hallway. He swiftly unlocked a nearby room with a key given to him by Bruce. From what Leliana understood, it was a sign of a great deal of trust to give a copy of a skeleton key. Apparently Bruce Wayne was a bit paranoid, and had very few that he trusted explicitly. 

“Maybe I don’t know,” Oliver said, guiding her through the threshold. “What I do know is mean like this…they have their eyes on a big target. I am a big target, meaning you are a big target which is why you are going to stay here, away from the danger.” 

Her green eyes flared dangerously. “Oliver Queen—” 

Oliver swiftly shut the door, and left the key in the old lock, making it impossible for her to open from the inside by any natural means. Her fist slammed down on the dark stained oak door, and she growled out, “You are such a bloody git! If you do something reckless, I swear by God’s green earth, Oliver I will make sure you live in paperwork hell for the foreseeable future!” 

He was probably already gone, but she hoped he felt a shiver down his spine from her threat. She knew he didn’t know that she was quite capable of handling herself, but the idea of him being out there without any backup make her stomach twist into violent knots. She turned around, surveying the room with a piercing glower, and instinctively her magical flared up the ruins in her eyes. She could see every speck of dust and detail that the dark room had to offer, and that’s when she saw the camera. 

A camera—not very obvious, very concealed—in the corner of the ceiling. The runes she had burned and magically stored into the vitreous chamber of her eyeball which was activated by a flare of magic through the optic nerve was able to pinpoint the camera immediately, and she was careful not to look it head on. One, she shouldn’t know it was there and secondly when her runes were activated, the lens of her eyes glowed causing the anterior chamber to glow unnaturally white. It wasn’t unreasonable for such security measures. This room wasn’t used every day, she could tell and likely the camera was there just as precaution should someone try to steal or break in—given the rooms location, the windows led out to a terrace that if one was skilled enough could access. 

The sound of gunfire made her pulse throb in the base of her throat. She just couldn’t sit idle, not when she knew that Oliver was likely out there as the Green Arrow. She couldn’t just go charging out there, either. Her magic could easily unlock the door, but the camera was a deterrent. She didn’t know if the gunmen had cut off the security measures, or if they were completely unaware of them. Still she wasn’t foolish enough to try something when eyes could very well be on her. Drawing in a shakily breath, she made her way over to bathroom and walked into it. It didn’t have a camera—at least, she hoped not. If it did then she sorely misjudged Bruce Wayne’s character. 

She shut and locked the door behind her, her mouth going dry with anxiety. Her fingers fumbled to open her clutch, and she withdrew her cellphone from it. The screen was going crazy. The image of her and Teddy at the park going fuzzy like an old television that had lost signal, and it only took her a split second to realize that the cell service was being jammed. If the cell phones were useless, then the landlines were, too. So she couldn’t get ahold of the police this way, her hand reached down into her purse when she suddenly went utterly still. A thin, cold chain brushed against the palm of her hand and suddenly, Leliana had a very clever plan. 

She grasped the necklace, pulling it out. She had thought to test this out in a safe environment. Her eyes stared at the golden chain, and the circular pendant that held a tiny little hourglass on it. It seemed that she had little choice now, because she wouldn’t get a chance to kill two birds with one stone ever again. So Leliana closed her eyes, her fingers grasping the tiny knob and she spun it twelve times. 

In the next second, Leliana Evans-Black vanished. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Leliana Evans-Black is the name that Aster Potter obviously chose to use in this new world, in case anyone is confused. Please leave your thoughts and comments. :D

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
> Like “Hello, Death, My New Friend”, I don’t know when I will get the time to make this a longer fic. I have ideas with what to do with it. I think I’m going to do 12 different worlds and families that Aster Potter could have come from, but they won’t be like straight away sequels. I have other things I have to do first so they are on the back burner, but feel free to suggest some crossover and potential birth parents for Aster in the comments below. However, if it’s a fandom I don’t know I likely won’t do it because if I don’t know the source material well enough then I don’t feel comfortable enough writing for it. Sorry.
> 
> A NEW BEGINNING SOUNDTRACK
> 
>  
> 
> 1.) “Natural” by Imagine Dragons 2.) “Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons 3.) “Brief Candle” by One-Eyed Doll 4.) “Gasoline” by Hasley 5.) “I’m Gonna Show You Crazy” by Bebe Rexha 6.) “Paint It Black” by Ciara 7.) “Bottom of the River” by Delta Rae 8.) “Blood on My Name” by The Brother Bright 9.) “Grave Digger” by Blues Saraceno 10.) “Broken Crown” by Mumford and Sons 11.) “Shatter Me” by Lindsey Sterling ft. Lzzy Hale 12.) “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac 13.) “Down Come The Rain” by Hidden Citizens 14.) “Basement” by Gemini Syndrome 15.) “Narcissistic Cannibal” by Earlyrise
> 
> * * *
> 
> PLEASE COMMENT AND LEAVE KUDOS!


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